Black & White
by crowscrow
Summary: Madness comes in all colors and contrasts, shapes and sizes. Like the pieces of a chess game, Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch find themselves the pawns of fate's perverse whims… and each others' fractured hearts. *Slash*
1. Check Mate

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Check Mate  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 2,658  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan and Jervis find an abandoned games factory. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Check Mate**

The old Gotham Games factory resided on the edge of the city. It wasn't the best, but it could have been worse. Jonathan knew; he'd hid in the sleaziest of slums to evade the GCPD's efforts to find him. The manufacturing plant had been rundown for some time but it still held all of its remnants from previous years, old checker boards, 1000 piece puzzles, Chutes and Ladders, and of course chess. It was dingy, tattered, and ransacked, but it was the best they could find on such short notice. "It's a shit-hole," he said in his usual stoic manner. "Figures you would find something less than standard."

"Oh hush, Jonathan," Jervis replied. "I admit I've found better before, but it isn't all that bad. We can clean it up. It'll be frabjous."

"We?" Jonathan asked. "I'm here for a couple nights at most, then I'm off on my own, Tetch, you know that."

Jonathan Crane was not a social person in any sense; he hated interaction with other people and only did so when necessary. He also _despised_ idle chit-chat, especially coming from Jervis Tetch. It was like the man could ramble on for days about nothing, about Alice and how exciting wonderland was, about how it would be simply frabjous to be there, and how the tea is on the fucking stove. No, Jonathan was simply not a social butterfly, but unfortunately the man in his presence embodied it.

"You mean you're leaving?" Jervis asked with a sad expression. "But we just got started!"

"Listen, Tetch," Jonathan interrupted, "I've already explained to you, I work solo. I don't want nor do I need your help. I didn't even want to come here but this is the only place I can hide while I get my shit together. So you'd better get this straight through your thick head, Tetch. I'm gone come morning."

Jervis simply looked up at him. "Would you like some more tea?" he asked, as if he'd heard nothing at all.

Jonathan stared at the shorter man, at that smile and barely contained glee. The conversation ended and Jonathan sighed, letting his angular shoulders roll back in a gesture of defeat. "Sure," he said.

Jervis skittered to one of the many derelict storage rooms, opening the wooden door in haste. He shook his head and went to the next one, mumbling that they couldn't have tea in such filth as he did so. He opened the next door and continued on while Jonathan examined their hideout with more scrutiny. How the hell was Jervis going to make tea here anyway, and with what? Was he going to boil the water in his fucking hands? Now admittedly Jonathan had his moments, sometimes lost in his own world, but it was barely a comparison to Jervis and his constant Carroll tick.

The sounds from Jervis and his exploration drifted as Jonathan let his mind wander. He thought about the reaction of fear he'd seen in the Arkham guard when he and Jervis had made their escape. There had been no knives or guns or toxin, nothing to strike fear- just him; tall, lanky, dark haired Jonathan Crane. It wasn't the Scarecrow, it was him. Oh, how he reveled in the fact that he could elicit terror with just a glance. It was always the man behind the mask, the true mastermind inside… always-

CRASH!

Jonathan's heart skipped a beat and he swiveled at the sound of metal hitting the factory's concrete floor. Jervis popped his head out from behind a door and flashed his sanity free smile. "Oops, clumsy me. Did I frighten you, Jonathan?" he asked.

Jonathan glared and answered, "I was not _frightened_."

Jervis lost his smile, looked the taller man up and down, and shrugged, regaining his grin as he made his way over to the other side of the factory, all the while seemingly oblivious to Jonathan's blatant scowl. He leapt up the spiral staircase to the next floor and reached for the first handle he found. The door read _EMPLOYEES ONLY_ in big black letters. He opened the door and peered inside, squinting to see what lay within. "Jonathan!" he called. "I've found the perfect place for us to have a nice cup of tea! Come up and we'll make this our stay for the night! Oh, and bring up a chess board while you're down there! Might as well indulge in a game."

Jonathan looked around himself and yelled back sarcastically. "No, you think we should? We might run out of wonderful fun if we start now, and I'm not sure we have enough games." He stopped short the moment he realized Jervis had returned to the room. "Pat-a-cake, Pat-a-cake…" he sighed under his breath. He shook his head.

Concentrating on the mindless whistling emitted from Jervis in the room above, he dug through a stacked pile of dusty board games until he found a chess box. He blew on the top, rustling the dust particles from their resting place and nestled it under his arm. After taking another glance around, he then started towards the staircase. In a few loping strides he reached the second level of the building and came to the opened door of the employee's only room.

As he stepped in he witnessed Jervis perched on a stool leaning over a banged up tea kettle. The kettle was placed on the lounge stove, filled with water, which Jervis had apparently gotten from the working faucet. Next to the sink stood a fridge which had lost its bottom panel; its hinges were rusted and worn, and it was empty.

Two ragged couches sat opposite of one another on the far side of the room, complete with a small stand on which an out-of-date television had been smashed. Wasn't much, but it was far more livable then the rest of the rooms had appeared, and for that Jonathan's mood lightened a nuance. He moved towards the table in the center of the room and noticed Jervis pull out two kinds of tea boxes from the cabinet above, setting them down upon the counter between the stove and the sink.

The blonde man leered over his shoulder at Jonathan and asked, "What kind would you like, friend, Chamomile or English Breakfast?"

"Chamomile," Jonathan replied.

Frankly it didn't matter what kind of tea it was as so long as he had some. Jervis was a finicky person, and if Jonathan rejected the offer of tea it might just make the crazed man jump off the deep end entirely. Jonathan didn't want that. He wanted Jervis to remain as sane and stable as possible, if only for a few days. Jervis was a bit unnerving when he didn't get his way; even Jonathan had to acknowledge that.

"You know," Jervis poured the boiled water into the cleanest cups he could find, "Carroll's _Through the Looking Glass_ is based loosely on a game of chess. The first book, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_, has a deck of cards as the theme but _Through the Looking Glass_ actually has Alice placed as a pawn in the story. Isn't that interesting?"

Jonathan wore a blank stare. "Yeah, I didn't know that. Thanks for the insight."

Jervis placed the two mugs on the table and slid one towards his friend. He smiled that damned smile and settled back into the nearest seat, sitting down with a jovial flop. Fortunately, the chairs inside the room were still intact, so the two sat in silence whilst sipping their tea, with no cream to Jervis's dismay, and relaxed in an atmosphere resembling the norm. After a moment Jervis decided to break the silence. "How about we commence that game of chess now, Jonathan?"

Sipping his tea, Jonathan peered over his mug and nodded, wondering how the hell Jervis had found a kettle, cups, and tea in their little abandoned crap-hole. Jervis beamed and opened the chess box. He took the board, unfolding it between himself and Jonathan, and began to gather the plastic pieces; white on his side, black on Jonathan's. He finished putting the last pawn in place and cast his gaze to his only friend, whom was still sipping tea. Jonathan set the cup down and met Jervis' blue stare for the first time since they'd arrived.

"White first," he said with a raised brow.

Jervis took his turn, and Jonathan did the same at his, casting his sight to anything but the blonde man's gaze.

"What say we make this a little more interesting? Winner has the pleasure of deciding what to play next. How about that? It'll make the game more… entertaining," Jervis said as he moved his pawn.

"Whatever," Jonathan replied, taking his turn.

And so they continued, going back and forth for a solid forty-five minutes until at last the game was near its end. Jervis had trapped Jonathan's king in a corner, and his queen had already been taken. It was Jervis's turn next and he moved his rook in for the kill, grinning up at Jonathan. "Check mate, dear."

"Well, what do ya' know?" Jonathan said and yawned. He stretched his arms far behind his head. "You win." He was far from impressed, having not cared about who was going to win from the start. The only set back to Jervis winning was the fact that it was his choice what to play next. Jonathan cracked his neck to the side, wishing he could snuggle up with a good book, and waited for his blonde nuisance to decide. "I suppose you'll want to play _Candy Land_ next?" he said with mock excitement.

"Actually," Jervis whispered. He maneuvered his hand to lie atop Jonathan's. "I was thinking we could indulge in something more adult. Maybe a game of… _pat-a-cake_?" He emphasized his point by rubbing small circles into the muscle between Jonathan's forefinger and thumb.

Jonathan was floored. He gawked wide eyed at the man across him, the man with the Cheshire cat grin.

"What exactly are you proposing, Tetch?!" he said.

"Oh come now, Jonathan, you know I'm as hopeless as a Jubjub. You can't possibly be that clueless," Jervis said. "And I won, so it is my choice, right?"

Jonathan was once again speechless. He snatched his hand from under Jervis's and gave the man a bewildered look. He shook his head, tearing his sight away to eye the remaining pieces on the checkered board.

"Jonathan, that's not fair," Jervis said with a whine. "We made a deal. I mean, what are you," He grinned deviously, "scared?"

Jonathan's head snapped to attention and he glowered.

"Are you a 'lil scared, Jonathan? Why are you _frightened_? I can understand, we're all scared of something." He ceased his taunting the moment Jonathan shot forward and seized the blue collar of his issued asylum shirt.

Fury stuck to Jonathan's features as he met that triumphant gaze eye to eye, this time without apprehension. "I am _not_ afraid."

"_Prove_ it," Jervis replied and licked his lips.

That was all it took for Jonathan to slam him down atop the chess board, the abiding pieces and tea flying from the table and spinning to the tiled floor. He shoved Jervis down with clenched fists, his angry face inches away. Jervis bent upwards and puckered up his lips. They kissed roughly, and Jervis ran his hands over the fabric of Jonathan's matching shirt, lifting it after reaching the bottom seam. Small hands ran franticly over Jonathan's lean torso and he inhaled sharply, tearing his lips away. He grabbed Jervis's hands and forced them above the blonde man's head. Panting, he strained to keep his cool while Jervis smirked below him, softly struggling against his grip.

"You're mad!" Jonathan yelled. He was losing his grasp on Jervis and the small amount of sanity he held.

The Hatter peered up, the corners of his mouth imitating the ghost of a smile, and said, "We're all mad here."

Jonathan's mind snapped as he bent forward and delivered a bruising kiss, it turning somewhat gentle as Jervis's tongue slid out. Jonathan hesitantly opened his mouth, shutting his eyes tight when he felt the tongue brush inside. Suppressing the urge to run, he instead tried to kiss back. Why be afraid? What the hell was wrong with him? He had no fear. None. He was not going to back down to some fool's dare, especially not from Jervis Tetch. Their kissing escalated, tongues colliding together as Jervis clung to his shirt. Soon, kissing wasn't enough, and Jervis tore his lips away to tug at the fabric between them. Jonathan arched up and in one swoop relieved himself of the cloth. Jervis did the same. They both paused.

Jonathan caught the other man's lips once more and kept his eyes closed, but opened them wide when he heard Jervis whisper.

"Jonathan wonderland is near. It's down the rabbit hole, Jonathan."

Jonathan pulled away, tilted his head, and whispered, "Jonathan isn't here right now." He stripped Jervis of the rest of his clothing, slipping off the man's shoes and socks. When both their skins were exposed to the chill of the air he leaned forward, meeting Jervis square in the face. "You're not going to like _pat-a-cake_ when I'm through."

Jervis clenched at the intrusion and strained to relax. "Beware the Jabberwock," he said with a small giggled. "The jaws that bite, the claws that _catch_!" He jerked as Jonathan gave a particularly forceful thrust.

After a few more moments of awkward rhythm Jonathan began to find a good pace and Jervis, more at ease then before, began to move in unison along with him.

"Wonderland. I'm almost there," Jervis said.

Jonathan gripped the blonde man's jaw and looked into his ocean blue eye, seeing an endless abyss therein. In that moment Jervis came, and Jonathan's own orgasm reached its peak. He then collapsed upon Jervis, body slumping as his legs gave out.

Jervis sighed dreamily. "I was there. Ah, Wonderland…"

Jonathan abruptly pulled away. He needed a rag, something. Looking down he saw his own shirt. He picked it up and started to clean himself, wiping the contents of Jervis's… ecstasy from his stomach. Stalking towards the sink, he ran the shirt under some water, using it again to clean the rest of himself. Jervis was still splayed atop the chess board, sighing to himself and running his hands through his hair.

"Are you just going to lay there? Get _up_," Jonathan said. He threw his dirty shirt at the man.

Jervis sat forward and placed his outstretched arms behind him for support, his legs dangling off the side of the table. He appeared listless, eyes half lidded and smile clear. Jonathan's eyes narrowed and he grabbed his pants. He pulled them on and said, "I'll need to get more clothing."

"Where is your scarecrow costume?" Jervis asked in a daze.

"None of your damn business," Jonathan replied.

He glanced over and saw Jervis cleaning himself, and suddenly he had to get away. He skulked out of the employee's lounge and went to the side of the staircase, leaning his forearms onto the banister. He gripped a hand in his hair. Looking down at all the abandoned junk below, he wanted to retch. He was such a fool.

"I suppose you'll want to stay, Jonathan?" He could hear Jervis say in the other room. "You simply can't leave now that we've found wonderland together."

Jonathan didn't reply; he still felt sick. What happened to him? He curled up and almost laughed, but a realization came, hitting him hard like a freight train going full speed. There'd been no silly bowtie, no micro-technology, no electronic headband placed within the confines of his hat. It was him; short, annoying, blonde haired Jervis Tetch. It wasn't the Hatter… it was him. Jonathan felt himself begin to vomit.

"Tea is on the stove, Jonathan!"


	2. Nursery Rhymes

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Nursery Rhymes  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,111  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan struggles with giving in. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Nursery Rhymes**

A few days had passed since their intimacy and Jonathan still couldn't shake the strange mood that plagued him. The factory was too cramped, and that didn't help either. He wished he could just retreat, like to the haunted house he'd found in the Gotham Amusement park a few years back, but he knew it'd been demolished. Though he wanted to be elsewhere, wishing so was a futile pursuit. For some unfathomable reason he couldn't bring himself to go.

You simply can't leave now that we've found wonderland together…

The thought made him feel sick. Manipulative bastard, he thought.

After they had had sex, Jervis found the couch on the far side of the room folded into a large bed. There were neither sheets nor blankets, but it was a mattress nonetheless and looked as if it had never been used. Why the employers had bought a couch with a fold out mattress was a mystery to Jonathan but he disregarded the thought as he remembered Jervis was currently annoying him.

"I'm glad you found some more clothes, Jonathan. That Arkham outfit looked appalling on you," Jervis said. "I love how you look in simple attire. You look dapper."

It was true, Jonathan had found a black cotton shirt that hung on his frame like it were on a hanger, with old khaki slacks and a pair of plain dark shoes. He looked eerily handsome on the smaller couch with his crooked nose stuck in a book, lost in the text and trying to ignore the stupid babbling that surrounded him. As the hour grew, the speed of Jervis' mouth began to lessen and he stopped his puttering to ask in a low tone, "It's getting rather late, shall we?" He motioned at the pull out mattress with a hand.

"I told you, I'm not sleeping in the same bed as you. I'll take the couch again," Jonathan replied.

Considering the couch was too small for Jonathan, Jervis's offer was incredibly tempting. Jonathan had refused the night before and had forced the other man to sleep as far away as possible, but resilience was easy to break when one's comfort was threatened. Still, Jonathan had to remind himself that he didn't trust the shorter man. For all he knew he could wake up in the middle of the night to those delicate hands fondling him, and like resilience, restraint was another weakening factor… at least after what had happened between them last.

_Push it aside_, he thought. His face showed the hint of a blush.

"_Jonathan_," Jervis said. "There's no reason for you to sleep uncomfortably. There's room for the both of us and you need a good night's rest. You won't be sorry come morning. _Please_? _Jonathan_?"

Jonathan almost stood and smacked the blonde man but decided against it, feeling much too exhausted from the day's endless stretch. He was so tired. The hideout had needed some tidying before it could be considered a livable space so he and Jervis had taken to cleaning it. The past two days had been trying on his patience as well as his sanity. And it was true; he really did need a good night's rest. Setting the stolen book on the busted night stand, he crossed his arms and legs.

Jervis walked over to the mattress and set down his mug- the same mug he'd used prior to their intimacy. Jonathan's was thinking in contemplation with his bottom lip jutting out, which must have made Jervis laugh. He quickly stopped, fading to a coy façade and swallowing hard as Jonathan's mouth twisted into an ugly scowl.

"Now, Jonathan you needn't be upset." Jervis said. "I'm simply trying to make you comfortable. Oh! I almost forgot, look what I picked up today!" He raced to the countertop near the stove and pulled out a book from the linen bag he'd claimed from the factory. "I took it from this lovely shop on Queens Ave. It made me think of you, consider it an un-birthday present!" Held in his petite hands was a copy of Andrew Lang's The Nursery Rhyme Book. He offered it to Jonathan who sat with a questioning stare.

Jonathan glanced down at the book then up to Jervis, his head unmoving. He snatched the book away and set it on his lap, uncrossing his legs as he did so. Jervis peered on, tilting his head to the side as Jonathan began to flip through the pages.

"This was published in 1897. You stole me a first edition nursery rhyme book," Jonathan said flatly.

"Well, I was rushing to get back when I happened upon this antique bookstore. I thought, what a delight, and stepped inside. And there it was. Isn't it charming?! I thought it'd be a nice gift."

Jonathan was at a loss for words. His face softened. He couldn't recall ever receiving a gift, which was to be expected considering the lack of real friends he actually had. Raising his head from the worn hard-cover, he locked eyes with Jervis. A pleased smile draped the man's face. Jonathan then blinked and wordlessly dropped the book to his shovel shaped feet, kicking it away. "I don't want it," he said with a sneer.

Jervis's smile dulled and he picked the book up gingerly, cradling it close to his chest. He wore a look of disappointment. "Well, it's yours anyhow…" He set the book down and trudged over to the floor lamp then flicked it off, having to stand on his tip-toes to reach the beaded cord. He turned to the mattress and plopped down, shrugging off his shoes and throwing his coat to the floor. His top hat and costume rested on a hanger across the room behind where Jonathan slouched stubbornly.

Jonathan's face was once again sullen, and he glared at the gift that was left for him atop the other book.

"Goodnight," Jervis said. He snuggled up to himself.

Jonathan lingered as the dim light of the lamp contoured the peeks of his face. The shadows crept, encasing him. He bit his lip and continued to glare at the book. It wasn't that he didn't like it, no, it was more like he didn't like who'd _given_ it to him. Still, he felt some sort of indebtedness for the consideration. Sighing to himself, he let his broad shoulders slacken and his arms drift to his sides, mulling over his whereabouts to sleep. Another fifteen minutes and he turned his head to look at Jervis's tranquil form lying on the mattress, a small almost innocent thing breathing softly. Determining he had nothing to fear, though he hesitated at first, Jonathan stood from the couch and walked to the bedside, nimbly lying down so as not to disturb his so-called friend. A combination of exhaustion and relief made him shut his eyes.

* * *

_There were many things he dreamt, of shoes and ships and ceiling wax, of cabbages and kings. He dreamt he was a poor little oyster, helpless against the whims of the walrus. _

_"If seven maids with seven mops swept it for half a year, do you suppose," the Walrus enquired, "That they could get it clear, my dear?"_

_He knew he'd be eaten alive so he ran. The walrus fell far behind. He was almost to the shore, but where was the carpenter? He turned his little oyster body around only to realize he wasn't a little oyster at all, but the carpenter himself, and there was the walrus, magically appearing in front of him. It snatched him up and opened its mouth, a huge endless hole gaping into nothing. The walrus let go. _

* * *

His eyes shot open and he stared into the blackness above, his breath short and his forehead beaded with sweat. There was something awful touching him… something wonderful and wicked. He curved his neck and saw the slight silhouette of Jervis's figure straddling his legs, the man's head slowly bobbing in the dark. Panting, Jonathan gripped the mattress so as not to tangle his hands in Jervis's hair.

"I thought since you didn't like my other gift you might like this one," Jervis whispered. "Just relax and try to enjoy yourself." With that said, Jervis devoured him. It was too much; too fast… he placed a firm hand on Jervis's head and pushed back.

"No, stop," he said, his voice faint. "I don't want this."

"What is _wrong_ with you?!" Jervis said in sudden fury. "Why do you pretend this isn't happening, denying yourself something that makes your life less miserable? You and I both know you want this, Jonathan. Why do you torment yourself? You know you can't stop me. I'll have you one way or another. I've waited my whole lonely life for you."

The day Jervis Tetch became the Mad Hatter was the day Alice Pleasance rejected him. And Jonathan knew how that had ended. Jervis had all the classic symptoms of a killer, not to mention he was quite insane. A contradiction, acting childish and naive on the outside while hiding his true self within; his manipulative nature and vindictive attitude mixed with a terrifying need for acceptance, all of it hidden to anyone who hadn't pushed past the surface. Jonathan's mind raced as he thought of the complications of his situation. There was no way out, Jervis wanted him like he had wanted Alice. No, it was need, a base and primal need, like that for air, warmth, water, like a need for his stupid wonderland world.

"Don't fight me, Jonathan." Sidling up close, Jervis angled his head down, kissing Jonathan with a powerful, almost frightening desire. Jonathan was like a statue, going cold and unresponsive. He couldn't see Jervis's expression in the darkness but if he could he would've realized the man's tolerance was wearing dangerously thin. Jervis suddenly drew away and slapped him across the face, his innocent front melting in seconds. After another moment, he backhanded Jonathan again, panting in anger and hurt. "One, two! One, two! And through and through, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with his head, he went galumphing back!"

"Get off me!" Jonathan said and shoved the man away.

"Why are you so stubborn?! You're like the Queen of Hearts and her roses, always wanting them red! Will you ever want what you have right in front of you?"

"Get off me."

Jervis froze for a moment then obliged and slipped off Jonathan's legs, reaching out and yanking on the beaded chain of the lamp. It shown with a sallow glow, and Jonathan blinked a few times to adjust his vision to the unexpected light. Jervis sat half clothed with his legs crossed and his hands clenched. He looked as if he was trying desperately to control himself, and he shot Jonathan a displeased glare.

"I don't understand this constant refusal. I don't understand why you won't just let yourself be happy," he said.

"Let me repeat myself for the final time, Tetch," Jonathan said. "_I don't want you_."

Jervis closed his eyes, his jaw tightening at the remark. Then he snorted, his mouth curving upward in a large grin. "Well, I could always slip a control chip behind your ear. I'm sure that would rid you of your guilt, my sweet."

"You wouldn't _dare_."

Jervis glared, and looked Jonathan in the eyes. Jonathan bared his teeth but the threat was wasted as Jervis backed away and sighed. "No… no, I wouldn't," he admitted. "That would only reduce you to a soulless shell."

"That's right," Jonathan said..

"But it's a shame. I know it must feel wonderful."

The smirk dissolved from Jonathan's face and he blushed.

Jervis grinned. "When was the last time you were, say, intimate with someone besides me, and other then with yourself, of course?"

Jonathan's blush worsened.

"Didn't it feel good?" Jervis asked. "The other night, I mean? I know you enjoyed it. Let me make you feel that good again." He slowly padded his way up the mattress and placed his hands on Jonathan's stomach.

But Jonathan was quick to refuse. "Don't even try it. I'm wise to this fucking game of yours, Tetch. You're trying to manipulate me. I'm in control."

"Of course, you're in control, and you were on top the previous night, where you not? You're in charge, the boss, the king. You're the walrus, big and strong, and I'm the measly carpenter."

Jonathan's better judgment ceased to exist as Jervis caressed his inner groin. Jervis kissed the tip and it was all over. Jonathan barely knew what was happening before he came with a sharp inhale, gripping Jervis's hair in his fingers. When it was done the smaller man raised his head up and wiped the sides of his mouth, the shadows making him look small and harmless in the muted light. Jonathan blushed in shame. He slowly pushed Jervis away. "We need to talk," he said.

"We do? I thought we had. Alright, we shall."

Jonathan's eyes were glazed in disappointment. He felt so empty, but just a moment ago he'd felt such contentment, though he was angry at his lack of discipline. He'd felt incomplete his entire life, judged cruelly by society and punished just the same, but it didn't matter because… he wasn't alone anymore. But he was afraid. So, so afraid. Caring for someone meant feeling, and he hated the warmth of another thawing his icy heart. He took in a breath and looked at the ceiling. "We need to discuss exactly what's going on." He made the mistake of glancing down.

Jervis' eyes shown with hope and his smile exuded sheer joy as he fastened onto every word. Jonathan hated that happy-go-lucky state Jervis seemed to embody. It was like the man had no fear. _No fear_. Jonathan's eyes narrowed. He felt sick. He really wasn't in control, it was just a fallacy. And because of this manipulative bastard he became something he hated most: a coward.

SMACK!

Jervis's head twisted with the force of the blow the smile flew his face. He was taken aback, though he regained his composure quickly. "You know this is what you want," he said with a frown. "You want a companion, Jonathan. You're lonely… just like me."

Another backhand silenced him.

"Don't you dare tell me what I want!" Jonathan yelled. "You're the one that's lonely; I'm fine, just fine! I run my own show, you got that, Tetch?!"

Jervis rubbed his reddening cheek and glared. "I hate it when you yell," he finally said.

"That's it." Jonathan zipped up his pants and stormed towards the kitchen. He gathered his things; his clean clothes, his knee high boots, his stolen book, and his scarecrow outfit. Growling to himself, he started to put his belongings in a tattered sack, leaving the Nursery Rhyme book on the nightstand without a second thought.

"What are you doing?" Jervis asked. He leapt from the bed and raced to Jonathan's side.

"I'm leaving."

"Leaving? But why?! You can't leave now, Jonathan, you can't!"

"And why is that?"

"Because I love you!" Jervis shot his hands over his mouth as though he'd blurted out something taboo, and tears began to spill down his cheeks. He looked pleadingly at Jonathan, who wore an expression of utter surprise. How could this lunatic love anyone? Jervis was insane. They were both insane. They couldn't possibly love anyone, let alone each other.

"You don't love me. You're obsessed," Jonathan said. "Like you're obsessed with wonderland and the Cheshire cat and all the things that let you escape this hell."

"That's not true!" Jervis cried. "Why won't you believe me?! I'm only trying to help us both! Please, don't leave me here alone, Jonathan, please! Who will have tea with me? The Hatter has got to have his Hare, I tell you! And what of Alice and the Cheshire cat? They'll be gone and the Queen will have her head! Oh no, she'll chop off her head, white rabbit, the watch is broken and tea time won't begin, and, and, and the jabberwocky will win!" He grabbed hold of Jonathan's pants and buried his face into the man's lap, sobbing and wailing like a lost child.

Jonathan grew rigid as Jervis continued his sniveling. Breathing deep, he stopped himself from shoving Jervis away. This was just a man, he thought; a lonely, lost, passionate man who longed for the romance conjured up in fairytales. Jonathan looked down at the bundle of blonde wisps weeping in his lap. "Ok, ok, lighten up. Stop crying, alright?"

Jervis stepped back from his lap. Jonathan had to admit the sight was rather amusing, though the situation was less then humorous. Still, he let a small chuckle escape as he sat his belongings on the tabletop. "Listen, I'm not sure what's happening between us, but let's get one thing straight, ok?" he said and reached out to lift Jervis's chin. "I do things on my own. I work alone and I live alone. I'm happy that way, and I've no room for anything else. What happened between us was just a fluke and it can't happen again. I'm not rejecting you, Tetch… well, yes, I am, actually. But it's not because I don't… like you… but because we're better off without each other. You understand?"

Jervis stood blankly, as still and silent as a sculpture.

"Do you understand, Jervis?" Jonathan asked again.

Jervis said nothing.

"I'm sorry I hit you."

Still nothing.

"Well… I need to pack the rest of my things. I'll stay this night but come dawn I need to leave."

Not a word.

"Damn it, Jervis," Jonathan said, "would you at least say something so I know you haven't gone _comatose_?"

"Would you like some more tea?" Jervis finally replied. He moved mechanically towards the bed, hunching over the side and collapsing. He curled up into a ball and shut his eyes.

Jonathan opened his mouth to say something then closed it. He didn't care for Jervis, but he didn't want the man to die of some sort of emotional trauma. "Will it make you feel better if I said I was sorry?" he asked.

Jervis was silent and Jonathan couldn't find anything more to say. He put the rest of his things in the raggedy sack and felt for the lamp switch. In the dark, he stretched on his couch, listening to Jervis breathe faintly in the dark. He didn't sleep, instead opting to fix upon the systematic sound of Jervis's lungs expand and contract, feeling eased by the assured next inhale of breath.


	3. Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Over the Cuckoo's Nest  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 2,144  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Scarecrow (as separate entity)  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: R  
Summary: Jonathan can't decide if he should go back. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes,  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Over the Cuckoo's Nest  
**

Jonathan squinted as the tiny rivulets of lamp light seeped between his lashes, summoning a sneeze. He sat up with an ache, his back and shoulders sore from the lack of cushioning. Letting his head roll from shoulder to shoulder, he took a deep breath. He hadn't slept at all and his cursed stomach made a growl of protest from its emptiness. He was so hungry; he hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before.

Their hideout was strangely quiet for the morning time. Jervis had always woken hours before to bake some kind of breakfast for the two out of scraps they'd managed to steal from a nearby grocer, however this morning there were no appetizing aromas, and much to Jonathan's disappointment the hideout appeared empty. He looked for Jervis but the man was nowhere to be seen; he should have expected as much. Though it had been his goal to leave, he was a bit distraught at the silent air encompassing the room, expectant of Jervis to be present before his departure. He decided to ignore his feelings and dragged his feet to the counter, reaching for a mug in the cupboard and filling it with water. He took a gulp and stared at the wall. This wasn't right. Jervis should be here, making him breakfast. Christ, the man should be making a damn buffet, like he did every morning since they'd arrived, fussing over how things tasted and whistling happily to himself, all for the sake of Jonathan's ferocious appetite. However, Jervis wasn't cooking and the place felt abysmal without the sounds of pots and pans and those tiny, little pattering feet. Jonathan knew he was leaving, but Jervis should have been there to at least see him off with a meal or something…

He glanced over to their bed and found a note atop the book Jervis had gifted him. A few quick steps and he reached out to snatch it, reading the contents aloud.

_Dearest Jonathan,_

_You are free to leave. It was nice to have you around for a while. I'll be gone when you awaken, business you know. Take what you wish, good luck._

_-Hatter_

The note seemed oddly calm and was scrawled in Jervis's distinctive handwriting. It was unbelievable; Jervis had the intentions of simply letting him go. No crying, no last resort methods to make him stay, no begging for him to reconsider his options, just serene acceptance. Jervis was freeing him, emotionally and physically. Jonathan was stunned.

"Huh," he said and shrugged.

There was nothing else to be done except gather the rest of his belongings and head out the door. He stepped towards the counter and gulped the rest of his water. As he moved towards the table he found a plate with two small cinnamon scones. Smiling, he picked one up and bit into it while wrapping the other in a paper towel. He placed the scone in his bag and finished off the one in his hand, tasting the sweet buttery texture of the hardened flakey morsel, the cinnamon and other varied spices mixing together to create an array of delicious flavors that danced in his mouth as he chewed. It was for certain, Jervis was a master of something other than mind-control; he was an excellent cook. Jonathan almost regretted having to leave for that reason alone.

Packed and ready, he surveyed the room, purposely ignoring the book beckoning him from atop the night stand. He left it where it sat. The feeling of spirited revival left as quickly as it had come, and the thought of his freedom was now a sad image. To his amazement he felt melancholy. He sped out the door and down the spiral stairwell, bolting out the exit. Well, at least he was without that annoying, incessant, needy man to getting in his way. Now he could finally sit and read without being interrupted, and he could fall asleep in peace without fear of unwanted touch.

Once outside, he breathed the noxious Gotham City air and felt relief settle his nerves at last, for now he could start working, his lazy streak ending the moment he raced out the factory doors. It was his destiny to strike fear into the hearts of Gotham's inhabitants, it was his mastery, so he had best get to work.

* * *

Jervis sat alone, a mug fitted snuggly between his palms. The thin twine from the sachet dangled over one side, like the single wisp of blonde hair that twirled its way past his brow. A bottle of rum cast a long shadow across the floor, cutting the tiled plane in half, and the heat from the ceramic against his skin was beginning to burn.

Even so, he held the mug firmly, wishing he could feel the burn deeper rather than the nausea in his gut. He felt nothing else, nothing but the awful depression he'd felt for years. How he wished he could rid himself of that enormous cavity, that overwhelming dread that knotted itself deep within like an endless pit. Nothing could take it away… only madness could numb it until he fell asleep... yet his eyes would somehow manage to open again to that apocalyptic pain, and his heart would keep beating through the midst of his agony. All of him, his entirety, was just a farce, for inside it felt like he was bleeding to death, the wound gaping too wide to stitch.

He'd had hopes that Jonathan could fix him. He was certain Jonathan was the solution, like he'd been certain Alice was, but they were both gone and the only thing left in their wake was his ruin. That familiar pain he'd felt from Alice' rejection stained him now and he was left petrified, as if outside the four walls that surrounded him laid a desolate, black void that enveloped the universe ten times over. He didn't know what to do; it had only been two weeks since his companion had left him, but the time dragged on and it felt like an eternity. He just wanted to let it go, to drift away and purge the memories from his consciousness.

To control Jonathan would be a crime, he knew… against what he knew not, but it would rip away that arrogant swagger he loved so much, that sheer vigor for life he saw that made the man so easy to love. He didn't want a senseless doll. He was tired of that sort of thing… Jonathan's very essence was in his aloof demeanor, how he stood tall and basked in his own artificial confidence. That brazen need to be fierce was just a surface; it was childish and audacious at times, but it was all the more endearing.

He envied Jonathan for his control and it made the rage bubble up, knowing his manipulations could only go so far. But when he thought of the way the man looked while asleep, with that luscious glow of dawn's break cascading over him and the lamp's light stirring him from his dreams, Jervis could melt.

A light sob escaped his mouth and his spirit sank even lower. No matter how much he grieved, he would not give in to the temptation of mind-control. At least he could be proud of that… but he still felt empty and unwanted inside, like he had suffered as a child. He felt unloved. He felt so alone.

That was it. He couldn't bear the burdensome load any longer. The mug fall from his hands, his fingers enflamed and lifeless as they curled in towards his red palms

* * *

Two weeks had come and gone, crawling by at a snail's pace, and Jonathan was starting to feel the onset of anxiety. Wanting to be alone, he'd retreated to a safe haven beneath Gotham's old theater building, burrowing like a rabbit in a warren. He felt at odds with himself and he couldn't sleep no matter how hard he tried… as if that were anything new. On top of sleeplessness, his normally pointed intellect was waning thin, and it was taking a toll on his criminal concoctions. All he could come up with was a few meager ploys to rob Gotham's First National Bank, but that kind of job was a joke in itself. It was typical, a cliché amateur's gig set up by novices new to the field.

God damnit, he couldn't concentrate.

Frequently drifting, he mulled over how Jervis was coping without a friend to keep the loneliness at bay. That and what he might have made for breakfast that morning.

Jonathan sneered at himself. "For God's sake, he was a menace to your mission and you're still thinking about him? What the hell is wrong with you, Jonathan… get a _grip_ on yourself… it's not as if you actually cared about him."

He peered down as his stomach growled and gnashed, as if to argue. He stood from his tattered chair occupying the huge oak desk against the wall, the wood being worn from its age and use, and paced like wild dog, hungry and savage and crazed. He hated himself… but he missed their hideout. He missed the liveliness and the energy, the smells and sounds, and he missed his short accomplice the most. _I'm getting too old for this_, he thought as he longed for the comfort of a niche where he could genuinely feel at home. But he could never create that on his own. He knew himself to be a cold bastard; he knew he was an ass. So why now feel the hunger, why now lose the contentment in his solitude?

It was because of Jervis.

Jervis had buried beneath his skin, like a flesh eating worm, and Jonathan could feel the yearning to scratch that repulsive itch. Damn that fucking man… He should have killed the little fuck. He blinked, sighing to himself while his anger dissolved back to lonesomeness. He couldn't kill Jervis; truth was he wanted the man's company more than anything. He just didn't _want_ to want it.

"Goddamnit," he whispered to himself. Crumpling up his plans, he hurled the paper towards the heavy brick wall glazed with that obnoxious white paint that chipped between the cracks. He hated this, the pining, the trepidation, the endless concern. If Jervis wasn't alright…

His stomach growled once more.

"That's it, this is ridiculous." he said to himself. "I should check in on him." He turned, then turned again, his head in his hands. "Maybe I shouldn't." He looked to the door leading to the exit of the basement. "Well, then again, maybe I should." He paused. Something in him snapped. "Damnit, I _will_ go, and if he doesn't like it, well, _too-fucking-bad_."

He took a new shirt from the pile of clothing he'd tossed in the corner and slipped the current one off. Being costumed in his scarecrow outfit didn't seem necessary. He bent to tie his boots and frowned, thinking of Scarecrow lying dormant inside, only rising in brief spurts before settling back down again between his subconscious. The last time Scarecrow surfaced was when he and Jervis had been intimate, standing forthright in his psyche and enjoying every moment. He felt a need to wake the creature, to activate the part of himself that was fearless, but he'd been enjoying his recent spurt of sanity… he didn't quite want it disturbed.

_Hey diddle, diddle. The cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon._

His hands clutched at his head and his eyes shut tight. He wanted to say the rest, he wanted to recite those stupid Mother Goose rhymes but he didn't want to be swept away by the undertow.

_Just ignore it_, he thought as he picked up his sweatshirt to head for the exit.

_Just ignore me,_ came the reply. It rasped and felt abrasive, and he shivered as it spoke, that voice a billowing gust of wind and straw. _Vintery, mintery, cutery corn. Apple seed and apple thorn._

_I don't know how I feel. I just have to go and check on him._

_Wire, briar, limber lock, three geese in a flock._

_I suppose. You're right, I can see that._

_One flew east, and one flew west._

Jonathan raised his head, his arms wrapped around his sides in a self-embrace. He could feel his own breath recede in and pour back out from his lungs, reminding him of Jervis. Hearing that breath quietly during the night… it aroused him to think of the warmth inside those lungs, with their fervor and life. He wanted to crawl inside them. A shiver ran down his spine and he wanted that warmth more than ever.

That was it.

It was time to get back what was his.

_One flew over the Cuckoo's nest.  
_


	4. The Walrus and the Carpenter

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: The Walrus and the Carpenter  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,585  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan finds Jervis in a heap of trouble. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**The Walrus and the Carpenter**

Jonathan walked briskly down Wayside St. hooded in a black sweatshirt, his head carefully downcast. A block away stood the abandoned Gotham Games factory. He wanted to get there as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself. If the GCPD picked him up it'd be a one way ticket back to the loony bin, straightjacket included. He didn't want that, especially since he and Jervis had flown the coop almost a month previously. There was a kind of joy in his secluded freedom, though it did come with a few setbacks… Mainly being the 'secluded' part, which he hoped to remedy.

Turning the bend, he glanced up to see the factory, its disheveled appearance granting him a somewhat homey feel. He lifted his head to inspect the area, assured he was alone save for a single homeless man, which wasn't peculiar considering the ghetto they were in. The man glimpsed up and started to babble, saying he had no money because of the war and he had lost his arm, though he obviously had both intact. Nonsense was all Jonathan could hear, so he turned without a backward glance and continued on towards his goal.

He reached the building and stepped inside, the familiar smell of old cardboard filling his nostrils. Yanking off his hood, he strode towards the staircase, trying to slow himself so as not to seem in such a hurry. A picture of calm, he gracefully ascended the steps to the second floor towards the employee's room, all the while thinking up an excuse to tell Jervis for his sudden visit. Opening the door, he found the lights switched off, so he flipped on the nearest lamp. His mouth went slack and he stifled the urge to gasp as he regarded the mess their hideout had become.

Now, it was a known fact that Jervis was a tidy man, being rather persnickety about nearly everything, but the room showed no such evidence of that. Sugar packets were torn into tiny bits and flung to the floor and plastic utensils were punched at random into the furniture. The four chairs had been pushed away from the table to hug the open walls, as if to verbalize the absence of company, and a tea mug sat alone on the counted top, half consumed, sachet still indwelled in the liquid remains.

Jonathan took in the sight of it all, eventually noticing Jervis's jacket and tie carelessly thrown over the small couch, along with the man's outlandish top hat lying on its side near their bed. He bent down to pick it up and hung it on the rack near the entrance. Sighing to himself, he began to tidy the mess, stepping to the trash overflowing with untouched, unopened food. The sight made his jaw tighten. He dropped the paper shreds, knowing he'd have to help Jervis clean once he found the man. As he investigated further he noticed the empty bottles of liquor left upon the table, spiced rum and vodka imprinted on the labels. His jaw tightened further and his eyes narrowed. Jervis was not a drinker… at least not what he knew of the man. Tea and sometimes a tobacco pipe, or even a hookah usually soothed Jervis's tension, Jonathan knew that much for sure, but it was odd and out of character to imagine Jervis drinking in any situation and Jonathan didn't like to think about his shorter cohort drunk.

A sudden rush of anger rapt him and he stormed about the room, hunting for Jervis and calling out the man's name in frustration. He even went so far as to peer underneath the bed, but to no avail. Shifting gears, he turned towards the door and exited the employee's lounge, speeding down the narrow walkway to another room. Locked. He growled and continued on to the next door.

The hinges squeaked as he pushed, and he poked his head through the small gap. The space was dark and piled with chairs, one stacked upon the other, leaving a narrow breach in the center of the room. Warily, he reached out and flipped the lights. Having not been used for over a decade, the fluorescent lights struggled to maintain their luminance, flickering on and off like a stroboscope. Jonathan blinked at the brightness engulfing the storage room and forced his eyes to stay open. His heart sank.

There, in the center of all the clutter lay Jervis, face down, his body curled in a fetal position, a fifth of bourbon resting a few inches from his outstretched hand accompanied by an empty bottle of pills.

"What the hell?" Jonathan said. "Oh my God, JERVIS!" He rushed to the man's side. "

He grabbed hold of Jervis's shirt and spun the man over. Jervis's face was blank, his eyes were glassy, and his lips parted to reveal foam-like spittle in his mouth. Jonathan shook the near lifeless man hard, grasping at his chin and listening for any signs of life, relief overtaking him as he began to make out small, labored breaths. He shook Jervis again. "Jervis! Jervis, _please_! Snap out of this!" he said. He noticed the pill bottle and frantically picked it up. Black letters printed ASPIRIN on the side.

In a whirl of haste, Jonathan hoisted Jervis into his arms, cradling the small man close to his chest, and spun quick out the door. He didn't have an actual degree in medicine or pharmacology but he had certainly studied it during the course of his incarceration at Arkham. Having plenty of time to read then, he'd picked up a book on the subject of drugs and overdosing, an occurrence quite common in those with mental disorders and prescribed medications. He had no idea when Jervis had taken the pills but the man had apparently downed the whole bottle, chasing them after with alcohol, a deadly concoction that could easily kill if absorbed into the body. But that wasn't something Jonathan could think about.

Racing to the nearest bathroom, Jonathan kicked open the door, showering shards of little wooden splinters everywhere. He twisted the sink's handle and a cool jet of water came out the faucet head. Jervis let loose a groan, spit drooling from the corner of his mouth as Jonathan splashed his face.

"Jervis! Jervis, listen to me, it's Jonathan, remember? It's your good friend, Jonathan Crane. I need you to stay awake. Do you understand me? It's imperative that you keep consciousness!"

Setting Jervis on his knees, Jonathan faced the half-conscious man towards the toilet and leaned him over the seat. He rolled up a sleeve and pried open Jervis's mouth as wide as he could, sticking two long fingers in to emit a gag reflex. Prayer was Jonathan's last hope otherwise he had no clue how to save Jervis from overdosing. Somehow a miracle bestowed itself upon the two, and Jervis began to sputter, twitching pathetically in protest as Jonathan held him steady and suppressed his own urge to heave at the bile on his knuckles and fingers. Grimacing, Jonathan quickly removed his hand and lifted it to the sink, rinsing it under the streaming water and returning it again to Jervis's opposing mouth. Jervis whined and shook his head away.

"_Open_," Jonathan said.

Jervis obeyed and let his jaw slacken, his small hands clutching at the sides of the porcelain bowl as he began to gag again. Pill fragments and stomach bile churned together in the water and sprayed up against his face, and Jonathan pulled away his fingers in disgust. They continued this sequence of gagging and rinsing until Jervis could only call up dry heaves, and Jonathan in turn eased his hold on the man's torso, soothing him as best he could. "You'll be fine. You're gonna' be fine. Oh boy, Jervis, you almost had me scared."

"You should have… let me die," Jervis said. He rested against Jonathan's chest. "Let me die."

Jonathan lifted the man up. "Shut up," he said. "That's enough talk. I'm taking you upstairs. You need to lie down, but I don't want you falling asleep."

He cradled the blonde man against his torso and turned off the faucet, flushing the toilet with his foot and watching the deadly little fragments spiral out of sight. He sighed and left the bathroom, walking up the staircase to the next floor and stepping through the mess of their hideout to the bed. He laid Jervis down and then sat on the edge.

Jervis let out a strained breath and eyed him. "So, why did you come?" He coughed, covering his mouth with his small hand.

Jonathan stared at the corner, unresponsive. The words were caught in his throat. He couldn't speak, the image of Jervis lying dead on the scuffed floor fresh in his mind.

"What do you want, Jonathan?" Jervis's voice was severe.

"Don't get snippy with me, Tetch. I just saved your life. You could at least have some gratitude. You should be happy I came along when I did."

Jervis looked taken aback, and tears started to fall from his eyes. "_Me_ be happy?! I made you food, I gave you gifts, I appreciated you regardless of your attitude and you left me here _alone_! You left me. How could you leave? What MORE could you have _WANTED_?" He was openly crying now, his cheeks wet as he lay like a hopeless doll on the mattress.

"I didn't mean…" Jonathan started. "Goddamn it, Jervis, why did you do this to yourself? You could have died."

Jervis suddenly coughed in a fit of exhaustion. His head lulled back and his eyes fluttered to stay open. The man looked a wreck, his body drained from all the vomiting.

"When was the last time you ate anything?" Jonathan asked.

"I don't remember," Jervis replied.

"You need to eat. My god, Jervis, what the hell? I don't want you falling asleep, do you understand? You need to stay awake so I know you'll-"

"Why do you care?" Jervis interrupted.

Jonathan couldn't answer. He started to speak but let his words trail off at the sound of Jervis's gentle breathing. Tearing his sight away, he raised a hand to his face while a rasping voice whispered, twisting in his mind.

"Hello?" Jervis asked. "Earth to Jonathan."

Jonathan closed his eyes, trying to ignore the voice's demands. _No. No I can't._

He covered his face, feeling ashamed and wanting to flee as he heard the air escape Jervis's lungs only to be brought back again in a soft and rhythmic pattern. The faint voice of Scarecrow grew louder and more defiant within, and he ground his teeth at the strong urge welling up in his core. Giving up he imparted his hands and mouth, his joints and muscles, and his body was relieved of his control as he slipped from the driver's seat. Gaunt hands dropped and the dark eyes behind them stared at Jervis with an intense expression.

Jervis raised a brow. "Jonathan?" he asked.

A hand shot out and grabbed Jervis's arm, twisting as it lifted the man off the mattress.

"_No, Scarecrow_."

Jervis yelped and tried to wrench his arm away, but it only furthered the grip, making him shout in pain. "Jonathan! Stop!"

Jonathan grabbed Jervis's free arm, digging his nails into the cloth of the shirt and tearing it over the man's shoulders, exposing soft sun-kissed flesh. The buttons remained fastened and the collar of the fabric bound Jervis's limbs as he tried to wriggle free, though he couldn't move with Jonathan holding him in place. The struggle lessened as Jervis realized his efforts were futile, and Jonathan tore at his pants, ripping them off and throwing them to the floor. Jervis lay obedient and apprehensive as the taller man splayed his legs, crushing bony hips down upon him. Jervis's breath quickened.

Moments skipped, flitting by fast and yet lasting forever, and they joined as one until their bodies tired. Jervis gazed up at the ceiling, his face a canvas of joy, and said, "That was amazing."

Jonathan turned away.

"Wasn't it?" Jervis asked again. He snuggled close to Jonathan's back.

"Mm," Jonathan replied. He smacked his lips in drowsy acknowledgement.

Jervis shied, making sure to give his companion some breathing space. He smiled again and sighed. "You know it's a good thing you showed up. I fear I would have… well, you know. Had you not come when you did. Thank you, Jonathan." Jervis traced a finger over his partner's hip.

Jonathan jerked back and asked, "When'd you take the pills?"

Jervis paused in thought. "I must have taken them right before you came to rescue me."

"Oops."

Jervis sat up straight. "What do you mean, _oops_?"

"I've always had bad timing," Jonathan replied.

Jervis's mouth hung open. Astounded, he tugged his shirt over his shoulders and buttoned up the front. Jonathan felt the bed shift as Jervis moved, the soft scuffling of bare fit filling the silence as the small man padded to the other side of the room. The movement ceased, suspended in time, and then suddenly the loud twang of a pot hitting a stove pierced the air, making Jonathan peer over his shoulder at the noise. He yawned. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Making dinner," came the short reply.

"Well, toss me a rag, _sweetie_."

"There is such a word as please, _dearest_."

A towel hit Jonathan square in the face and he snorted, but secretly jumped at the chance to eat something actually cooked for a change. Thirty minutes later Jervis cleared the table and laid out two bowls filled with tiny little bow-ties. He stuck a fork in each dish. "It's ready," he called out, still vexed.

Jonathan yawned, having dozed off for a bit, and pulled himself into a sitting position, his long legs stretching off the mattress edge. Sauntering over to the table, he sat down and looked at the contents of the bowl, disregarding Jervis's angry expression. "Bow-ties?" he scoffed.

Jervis closed his mouth around the tines of his fork and scowled, and Jonathan dug in, eating half the meal then suddenly stopping, swallowing hard and staring at his bowl. This wasn't right. He was eating dinner with Jervis. After sex. Things between them were becoming too personal, too intimate… too _romantic_; as if they were in some kind of… relationship or something. "This is… I should never have come here. This was a mistake. I- I have to go," he said as he stood.

Jervis looked in disbelief and placed his fork down slowly. An unexpected expression of vacant contemplation crossed his features, and he steepled his fingers gentlemanly in front of himself. "Let me get this straight," he began. "You're telling me that you came here, found my lifeless body on the floor, revived me from my deadened state, forced yourself upon me, insulted me afterward, and now, after all that, you're leaving me again?" He lifted himself from his chair and pressed his hands abrasively against the table, his knuckles straining.

Jonathan looked around for his answer. After a moment he finally found one. "Uh… yeah?" he said.

The next moment was a blur as the table flipped over and crashed onto its side, sending the dishes to the floor and spattering the pasta over the tiles, covering them red. Jervis grabbed his chair and shattered it on the table's side, wood flying everywhere, and flung the remaining piece away in a fit of rage. "Sit down!" he shrieked. His face was as red as the marinara sauce.

Jonathan plopped down in his chair and hunched up his shoulders, cradling his hands to his chest in cowardice with eyes wide.

"I've had it up to here with this shit!" Jervis screamed, "You give me nothing but _shit_, continuously disrespecting me and what I've done for you! You use me for your own physical gain while giving me nothing in return, and you slovenly rip my heart out like an animal and toss it in my face! For all your talk and banter you're nothing but a selfish, spoiled, inconsiderate, idle, _tart_ who's too fucking afraid of his own _fucking shadow_!" He glared at Jonathan, his breath short as he waited.

Jonathan looked small and meek, like a rebuked child, and his hands covered his mouth, eyes wide in fright and face a pallid hue.

"So now are you're going to tell me you're leaving again?" Jervis prompted. "No? Then you keep that _fucking mouth shut the rest of this night_!" He stomped towards one of the remaining chairs and slammed it around to face the corner, then took a step back and thrust his finger out, daring Jonathan to defy him.

Jonathan sat immobilized at first then submissively rose from his seat, head cast downward as he tentatively neared. The night continued with him facing the wall in a pathetic display of punishment while Jervis cleaned, muttering the whole time. An hour passed and Jervis was finished, so he took it upon himself to try and relax. He opened a book and began to read, sighing to himself peacefully as he sipped his tea. Jonathan turned to look over his shoulder, but Jervis shot him a livid look and snapped his fingers twice, motioning the reproached man to turn around. Jonathan frowned but obeyed, turning back to face the blank and boring wall. Jervis smiled, and for once their hideout was calm.

Another hour later and Jervis's anger had completely diminished, so he placed the book down while stretching out, a yawn emitting from his mouth to meet Jonathan's attentive ears. Jonathan looked over again and was met with a stark expression, but was not reprimanded.

"Come to bed," Jervis said. Jonathan did as he was told.

They lay together facing each other, side by side, and Jonathan's stomach growled while Jervis snored serenely. It took a while before Jonathan could fall asleep but eventually he nodded off, fixing upon the systematic sound of Jervis's lungs expand and contract, feeling eased by the assured next inhale of breath.


	5. The Cheese Stands Alone

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: The Cheese Stands Alone  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 4,095  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: Heavy R  
Summary: Jonathan learns more about his companion. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited. Implied incest, please be warned.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**The Cheese Stands Alone**

"_Jonathan_?"

He gradually slipped in and out of consciousness, the somnolent haze making him want to fall back into oblivion once again. He rolled over, trying to keep his eyes shut, but the small voice persisted. What was that… was it reality, perhaps? No… no, no, no… sleep is paramount. The figure and light… suppressed by blackness, succumbing to a void where they lay quiet and still, the ultimate truth. A cage for animals. The light hurt.

"_Jonathan_?"

He twitched; the white figure was trying to grab him, hold him down until he became one with the floor. He ran up the endless stone stairwell, but it was gaining. There was something alluring and calm about it, but he didn't want it coming near. The window was barred. He was trapped. The figure held him down, the needle punctured his burlap flesh and he screamed.

"Jonathan!"

He shot off the bed, his face dowsed in sweat and his hands clinging to the edge of the mattress as if it would disappear beneath him. Jerking to his right, his eyes met with Jervis. The shorter man was clad in his tapered green jacket, it narrowing at his waist elegantly, while his trademark top-hat crowned his noble head like a king. He appeared groomed and well rested. Jonathan gulped a few shuddering breaths and began to sputter, but he couldn't force the words to leave his mouth. Jervis stared at him with a curious expression, his small hands wrapped around a mug of what could only be tea. With an air of dignity, the smaller man set the mug down and strode towards him, hands outstretched in a kindly gesture.

"There, there…" Jervis said. "It's alright, dear, you were having a bad dream, that's all. No worries."

Jonathan eased as Jervis began to rub his back, however the troublesome nature of his nightmare perplexed him, and he didn't want to lose its memory. But dreams come and go as they are wont to do, and with another moment he could scarcely remember it. The remaining piece quickly flickered out as he felt Jervis snake a hand down the small of his back above his tailbone, caressing in a manner far too friendly.

"I-I'm fine. Really I'm fine."

"You're not fine, you're shaking."

"It was just a bad dream, is all. Really, I'm fine." Jonathan scooted away, leaving Jervis's fingers lingering in mid air.

Jervis looked at him harshly, loath to let the subject drop, but he accepted the explanation with reluctance and swiveled back to his tea, stealing it off the table with a dramatic show. As he leaned against the table's rim, he took a swig, eyeing the contents in his mug, then sighed and spoke in a tone still evident with concern. "Well… What kind of tea would you prefer with your breakfast this frabjous morning? I have quite the assortment now; though English breakfast is-"

"Why are you wearing that?" Jonathan interrupted.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Why are you wearing your costume? Why this morning, why now? I haven't seen you wear it in full yet."

"Ah, such a delight your perceptive mind is. You're-"

"_Why_?"

Jervis huffed and made a point to look him in the eye. "I went out this morning," he said, sloshing his tea about. "Early. So early it was still dark and you lay unstirred in slumberland." He paused, letting his tea settle. "I went… toseethepenguin-"

"What?!" Jonathan asked. "That bird-brained _bastard_? Tetch, why? We don't need his help!"

"Jonathan, we need money. We have nothing, and my savings are almost gone. We can't very well go round stealing forever, now can we? We need an arrangement. Sufficient income without concern of being caught by the police." Jervis slammed the mug of tea down hard upon the table. "I won't be sent back to Arkham. Penguin has the power to supply us our financial needs."

"You know damn well he's a stool pigeon." Jonathan said. "He'll fucking gossip the moment he knows we're together."

Jervis paused at the last word then batted his blonde lashes at Jonathan with a thoughtful smile. Jonathan rolled his dark eyes. "I mean the moment he knows we're mutual associates," he corrected.

Feeling the twinge of a headache, Jonathan lifted his hand to his temples and massaged. This insistence of their so called 'relationship', the annoying fantasy Jervis had concocted in his delirious mind, was getting a bit out of hand. As Jonathan's thoughts on the subject deepened, Jervis put a hand to the base of his back, and he cringed as if hearing nails on a chalk board. It was all he could do to just keep still.

"So," Jervis said, "Does this mean you acknowledge our, shall we say… unity?"

Everything in Jonathan's life had taught him this was wrong, that his feelings were something unacceptable, something against society's law of morality. But regardless of the public's bigoted views he couldn't deny the strange comfort Jervis brought to his deadened soul. It was like the man had struck a match and held it to his frigid heart, burning it anew; like thawing frost to bring back spring after winter's long reign. Jonathan exhaled loudly, his face a contorted mess as he glanced at his avid companion. He licked his chapped lips in thought. "Tetch-"

"Jervis, please. I do hope we're on a first name basis."

"Jervis… about-"

"Yes," Jervis cut in, "About last night. I'm deeply sorry for my behavior. Understand that I have only the best intentions…" He glanced at the floor in embarrassment. "Sometimes I lose myself, and I spoke of things not _necessarily_ true. I want you to know that I would never let any harm come to you." He glanced up, his expression regretful. "Sometimes… sometimes I lose control, my… temper, you see? But I'll never hurt you. Do you understand?"

Jonathan turned his head to the side and tried to swallow, a large lump welling up in his throat. "My… actions were kind of inappropriate as well," he said apologetically. "I suppose I'm sorry, too. I hope you feel better, you know? What with the pill… thing."

In response, Jervis slipped a hand through his partner's, lacing their fingers together tight. He raised his other hand to rub against Jonathan's cheek, giving him a reassuring smile. "No need for apologies, so long as you don't leave me again," he said as his fingers traced Jonathan's chin.

Jonathan for once let himself nestle into the touch, and he pressed the man's hand close to his lips with his own. Jervis's heart fluttered at the rare sight, his breath beginning to hitch as Jonathan kissed his knuckles once like a gentleman would a lady. The moment was sweet, harmonious even, but then Jonathan opened his eyes. He blinked and twitched in surprise, shaking his head, his face reverting back to default jerk mode. "I'm staying," he said and scowled.

Jervis clapped his hands. "Good."

"But that doesn't excuse why you went to the bird. You should have asked me first. Jervis, I have never taken help from anyone before, and I will not start now." Jonathan crossed his arms in righteous pride, straightening his back and puffing out his chest.

"I know," Jervis replied and smirked. He exhaled dreamily and scrunched up his shoulders like a love-struck schoolgirl. "I mean, I knew you wouldn't. Oh, Jonathan, that's what I love about you! You're so feisty, and you're majestic air emits a pride I've not seen in a long time. You're really something else."

"I suppose," Jonathan said. His brow rose in skepticism.

"You're so independent," Jervis went on. "So self-reliant and so… so free! You're the cheese that stands alone, eh? Ha, the cheese that stands alone, ha-ha! _The cheese stands alone, the cheese stands alone; Hi-ho the derry-o, the cheese stands alone_!"

Jonathan looked mortified. "Tetch… I-I mean, Jervis, stop."

"Oh, come on now, Jonathan, you know this one! _The farmer in the dell, the farmer in the dell; Hi-ho the derry-o, the farmer in the dell_!"

"Jervis, cut it out."

"_The farmer takes a wife, the farmer takes a wife; Hi-ho the derry-o, the farmer takes a wife_!"

"Stop it. Seriously." Jonathan's frown had transformed to more of a puckered smirk. Jervis looked like an idiot.

"Sing with _me_," Jervis whined. "Come on! _The wife takes a child, the wife takes a child_-"

"_Hi-ho the derry-o, the wife takes a child_." Jonathan finished, unenthused. His arms were crossed, though a tiny smile adorned his lips.

"_That's_ the spirit!" Jervis yelled with a laugh.

They sang the remainder of the rhyme together, Jonathan all the while shaking his head at his own stupidity, though he managed to hiccup a laugh or two, but that was more at Jervis' brainless smile than anything else. By the end he felt relaxed despite himself, forgetting his dream and for the moment and his qualms. He stood tall and stretched out his long limbs, dwarfing his small companion by at least two feet.

Jervis eyed him up and down then bounded toward their kitchen, his spotless spats clip-clopping on the floor like tap-dancing shoes, and he pointed up to the pancakes stacked high upon the counter. The smell of the meal was mouthwatering, and it beckoned to Jonathan's appetite, making him leap beside Jervis like a dog begging for his master's go-ahead. "Mm, Jervis this looks great." He licked his lips. "Can I… have some?"

"Of course!" Jervis said. His mouth then flew. "I found _real_ maple syrup, too. Can't possibly have pancakes without it, right? And of course your tea, what kind would you like, dear? I found so many at the market, you know. I do quite enjoy that little place on the corner of 5th and West. It's so modest and I don't even have to wear a disguise. The shop owner obviously doesn't read the paper."

"Huh?" Jonathan replied. While Jervis had been chattering on he'd gathered three of the large cakes and sat down at their table. His mouth was already stuffed.

Jervis grinned at the sight, suppressing a giggle as he took the syrup he'd bought in one hand and a stick of butter in the other. Against Jonathan's will, he slipped the plate away and slathered a square on the top cake. Next he dribbled the syrup then returned the plate to his companion, watching in silence as the man quickly demolished it. When Jonathan was done he licked his lips and narrowed his eyes, his patience growing thin as he watched Jervis be the stuck-up he was, sipping his tea with a pinky absently raised.

"You still didn't answer me," he said. "The Penguin. What did you tell him?"

"Would you like seconds?" Jervis held out the stack of pancakes.

"Tetch- I mean _Jervis_, what did you tell him? Does he know where you are?" Jonathan was becoming concerned; he didn't like the notion of anyone, especially the Penguin, knowing they're whereabouts. The bird was a snitch, and Jonathan had this so called 'ludicrous' suspicion that he was working with the Bat.

"Jonathan, you have a bit of syrup on your face." Jervis mirrored the spot near his own lips.

"Jervis. I'm not stupid; you're clearly avoiding my questions. Now, does he know I'm with you? What exactly did you tell him?"

Jervis gave a pout and glided from off his chair, his charming disobedience straining Jonathan's last nerve as he sauntered close. Tilting upwards, he kissed the crook where Jonathan's lips met, his plump tongue sneaking out to lick the sugary liquid away. As he pulled back he kept his eyes carefully downcast. Jonathan expected a frenzy of emotions; a common reaction to any sexual gesture Jervis presented, but was astonished when he didn't shoved his blonde concubine away in disgust. Instead he secured Jervis's face and forced the man to gaze up. Jervis tensed, clenching his teeth together so as to keep his jaw straight from the blow, but Jonathan sought his lips instead. Jonathan kissed him, exuding his internal conflict against the other man's slackened jaw while entangling him like a spider would its prey. Jervis wriggled, but couldn't break free. Another minute and the smaller man's breath was gone, the lack of new air strengthening his resolve, and he was able to tear his lips away long enough to wheeze, "No rush. Gently."

Jonathan nodded once and they started again, their lips cautiously searching out one another's, as if afraid they'd never stop. They slowed, taking their time to savor the moment of rare peace, and as Jonathan's tongue made its way into his partner's mouth Jervis couldn't help but note a faint trace of maple and smiled. In time, they broke away to catching their breaths and locked eyes. Jervis looked at him longingly and slipped trembling fingers over his moistened lips. Jonathan bared his teeth and bit with a throaty purr, and Jervis smiled big, ready for excitement as he shuffled closer with a flirty look while stroking Jonathan's bicep. Suddenly, Jonathan nabbed the other man, making his shoulders bunch up by the force.

"I know what you're doing… and it's not going to work. Answer me now."

Jervis huffed and turned his face away in defiance, loath to answer though he did. "I told him very few details, alright? I explained to him my circumstances and involved nothing about you. He doesn't know you're here and he's utterly clueless to anything else otherwise, _ok_?"

"Don't get curt with me." Jonathan stood tall, picking up his sweatshirt to swoop it over his head as he marched to the entrance of their home.

"Where're you going?" Jervis asked in panic, trailing on Jonathan's heels.

"Relax. I'm going to get the paper. See if there're any good jobs we can plan. I'm not excepting help from the bird so forget about it." Jonathan raced down the stairwell with his hands in his pockets.

"Will you be back soon?" Jervis called to him from above.

"Don't wait up."

* * *

Later that evening Jonathan decided to head back, his recently gathered _Gotham Gazette_ and bed comforter rumpled under the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He donned his black hood, just in case, and strut down Wayside St, pausing when he saw the unchanged homeless man sitting sheltered by a flimsy cardboard box. The man looked up, his unshaven face dirty with grim, and he started to babble his nonsensical dementia. Jonathan shook his head and continued on. _And I thought I had issues_, he thought to himself. _Hell, even Jervis is higher on the sanity scale, and that's saying a lot_. He shoved past the factories main doors, only to stop and raise a slender brow at the muffled noise resonating from his and Jervis's little abode. He hurried up the stairwell and slammed open their door, trying to judge what Jervis could possibly be singing about.

As truth had it, Jervis _was_ singing, shaking his little rear while he hovered on a stool, slanting over a big porcelain plate filled with sliced apples. _Oh my god, he sings while he cooks_. Jonathan sneered and rolled his eyes as a small bell chimed from the timer on the stove top. Jervis heeded the bell and hopped down from his stool, grabbing a pair of oven mitts to open the metal hatch of their shitty oven. With another faint hum he pulled out the baked item and mounted his stool once more, setting the dish atop a dirty towel so as not to burn their already stained counter, an action Jonathan could only regard as completely stupid.

"What are you doing?" Jonathan said with a scowl and sniffed the air.

"Why, I'm making dinner, my dear." Jervis began to chop the remaining apple wedges in two. "So… did you find anything?"

"What? Oh! Oh, yeah, the paper. I didn't take a good look yet."

Jonathan tossed the bed cover at their mattress and slapped down the newspaper on their kitchen table, eyeing the fresh shepherd's pie near Jervis. He yanked out a chair and plopped down to wait for his meal, stretching as he yawned wide. He watched as Jervis took a bowl of mixed confectionary and scooped it up, his delicate hands crushing it down upon the apple slices diligently. "And what's that?" he asked.

"Apple crisp." Jervis turned to look over his shoulder and gave Jonathan a faint, bucktoothed grin.

"Jesus, you're quite the little chef, aren't you?" Jonathan smacked his lips. "I hope you're not making all that for me."

"I'm not," Jervis replied warmly. "I enjoy baking. But it _is_ nice having someone to cook for." The little man turned back to his task and continued to pack the powdered crust, snatching a sliver of apple that jutted out from the side of the plate. He munched on the slice and opened the oven with his foot, gathering the dish and descending from off his perch to place the crisp inside. Biting his lower lip, he gave the dessert one last glance before closing the door and set the timer for fifty minutes.

"Well… it's nice to be the one to eat it," Jonathan said. "I haven't had real shepherd's pie in God knows how long. Where the hell did you learn to make all this stuff?"

"My mother, of course."

"Oh, yeah? What was she like?"

Jervis took the pie from off the counter and moved it to the table next to Jonathan's hungry gaze. "Oh, she was wonderful," he said. "You see when my mother married she wanted a daughter so very badly. Her side of the family descended from royalty, you know, going back many decades. Anyway, my father wanted a son, of course, but when I was born I was less than expected. I was a weak child, you see, and supposedly just made it through labor. My mother was unhappy and wanted another child but unfortunately for her my father left; I was very young. I never knew him or saw him again, but my mother still wished for a daughter. In the end I suppose she settled with me. She was wonderful though, quite an amazing woman really, and when I grew older she sought to teach me all the things she wanted to pass down from her mother, and from her mother's mother, and so on."

Jonathan sat up attentively and laced his fingers beneath his chin, intrigued by the infamous Mad Hatter's mysterious past. He gave Jervis a quick nod to continue.

"She taught me quite a bit, baking, sewing, crochet; all those so called 'womanly' chores she wanted to impart to a daughter. It was fine by me, though the other children thought me a bit odd. But, you know, I liked it when we cooked together." He brushed his hair back as he reminisced. "It was an especially calming time for me back then. I can still remember her happy face as I helped her knead the pie crust. Mind you, I wasn't very good at it at that age. In time I got better and began making meals for the both of us. Mother was quite happy. We lived alone, you see, just her and I, on the outskirts of London. Our little house was quite homey." He sighed. "It was the perfect place to grow up."

"Wow." Jonathan looked amazed. "You had a pretty normal childhood." He scratched his head. "What was her name?"

"Karen. Karen Tetch. She kept my father's name. I don't think she actually liked my grandmother or their ancestors, so she eventually cut off ties. But she named me after our family crest."

"Oh, I see. _Jervis_."

"Precisely." Jervis smiled, placing two large plates on their table and sticking a metal spoon into the cooled shepherd's pie. He scooped a serving for Jonathan and plunked it on the man's plate, then took some for himself, sitting down across from his partner and spreading a napkin neatly on his lap.

Jonathan stared. "That's like a coat of arms, right? Wow, I never actually put that together. So the kids were mean to you? I can relate to _that_ at least."

"Yes. Whatever, they were rotten children anyway."

"You have any… _girlfriends_? Or normal shit like that?" Jonathan had realized every time he felt nervous he launched a curse word. But he couldn't help himself. Though the topic was serious and somewhat uncomfortable, he wanted to pinpoint the nagging disbelief of Jervis's childhood. It couldn't have been all that ordinary, given the man's condition… could it?

"Oh no, not at all. I wasn't interested. I was always satisfied with my mother. She and I were close." Jervis chewed thoughtfully on some mashed potatoes.

"Hm." Jonathan shrugged. "That's good." He suddenly stopped, swallowing mid chew. Something in what Jervis had said made his mind sound an alarm. He looked down, as if the answer was hidden among the mounds of his barely eaten shepherd's pie, and then it came to him, the pieces connecting. He stared at Jervis, his mouth hang open.

"What?" Jervis asked. He looked bewildered.

"She… she touched you, didn't she?"

Jervis nearly choked at the remark, dabbing the napkin to his mouth with wide eyes. "_Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me. She touched you. Oh, my god… it all makes sense now."

Jervis flung his napkin to the table with a lethal look. "That's _sick_, Jonathan."

"Oh my god, that's it. That explains everything. Your relenting neediness, your childlike manner, your sexual appetite that borders on promiscuous-"

"You'll stop that talk right now. That _never_ happened." Jervis was seething, his hands clutching the sides of the table, indents of individual metacarpal ridging up like a rake.

"-your misplaced motherly behavior counteracting your need to be taken care of, distinguishing a lack of proper nurturance and justifying the coveted desire of maternal and protective care-,"

"_Shut up_."

"-your _fear_ of abandonment." Jonathan looked down, then back up. "Oh, my god… she molested you."

If he had stopped long enough to weigh his words he might have spared himself the oncoming grief, but he hadn't, and like an idiot he'd just kept going, now wreaking the havoc that was Jervis's anguish.

"THAT NEVER HAPPENED! Sh-she used to read me ALICE! No… THERE WERE NO WANDERING HANDS AT NIGHT!" Jervis flew from his seat and ran to the nearest corner of the room, wailing in grief.

Jonathan sat with his face in his hands, feeling like the world's leading asshole. He shouldn't have said that. There were some books not to be opened, them being too raw for him to touch, and he felt like such an ass for ripping open the enigmatic book of Jervis Tetch, tearing at the pages like a fucking savage rapist would their victim's clothing, resurfacing wounds possibly decades old. He felt like such an ass, such a stupid insensitive _ass_.

Slowly, he rose from his seat to see Jervis huddled in that corner, back heaving with every shuddering sob. Severe guilt tugged at Jonathan's heart as he watched the sad scene, and he could no longer shoo it away. Asserting himself, he placed a hand on Jervis's shoulder and pulled the distraught man into a firm embrace, shushing in the most compassionate way he knew how. The rest of the night was a blur as Jonathan cleared their half eaten diner from their table and scrubbed the plates in silent thought. When the timer for the apple crisp had rung he pulled it out and hid it in an empty cabinet- out of sight out of mind.

He'd put Jervis to bed after making the man drink a glass of water, hoping the security of their new comforter would placate him, but Jervis sprawled on the mattress and continued to weep, his heavy tears wetting the front of his pillow in big wet splotches. When Jonathan could no longer overlook the constant bawling, he slipped under the cover too, spooning against the other man despite his utter discomfort. Snuggling Jervis's shoulder, he whispered a song he chanced might make the sad man in his arms stop crying. "_The cheese stands alone, the cheese stands alone; Hi-ho the derry-o, the cheese stands alone…_"

Jonathan forced himself to sing the entire rhyme, and much to his relief Jervis's howls became sniffles nearly half-way through. Eventually the blonde fell asleep in his arms, and Jonathan cuddled his companion's body protectively before closing his eyes. There were no wandering hands that night.


	6. Lemon Wedge

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Lemon Wedge  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 2,017  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Intimacies between the couple intensifies. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited. Sexual content, be advised. This one got so short! That won't be a normal thing!

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Lemon Wedge**

_Jervis panted against the mattress._

"_You like that, huh?" _

"_Yes… God, yes," Jervis said. His moan was reminiscent of a whore working a patron in a brothel. _

_Grunts and gasps filled the air._

"_Are you afraid?" _

"_Ah, yes…" _

"_Jervis…"_

"_Oh, Jonathan, Jonathan..."_

"Jonathan?"

Jonathan's head jerked forward at the summons, his eyes shooting open with a start. He blushed, shifting on their mattress to cover his cheek with a hand. He'd been daydreaming- too much recently- and lounging around like a big lazy lummox as he ate and ate and ate. Though things had been calm, the sudden intrusion to his thoughts made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle in annoyance, and he turned to look at Jervis. The short man stood next to the kitchen table with both hands placed on the back of a chair. He gestured, his composure tense, and gave Jonathan a cocked brow as he flicked his wrist again at the opposite chair. Dinner was served.

Jonathan hesitated, recalling Jervis's break down two days past. Nothing had been offered on Jonathan's part; no words of solace, no _it'll be alrights_, and certainly no physical comfort whatsoever, save for the act of crawling into their bed to hold Jervis's body close to his own. But that had been it, and when morning broke so did he, away from Jervis's warmth to the other side of the room to sit at their soiled kitchen table with a cup of hot tea in hand. Silence was all he could give.

Well, what the hell could he possibly say? Was the subject even safe to talk about? He didn't know if it was, let alone how to approach it. But it was clear he needed to do something. Jervis had been pacing around their home aimlessly, sometimes in tears and sometimes with an absent expression on his face, void of emotion even as Jonathan called his name.

Sure, the man existed in body, but he seemed disinclined to exhibit any physical desire towards Jonathan, which to Jonathan was becoming more and more of an insult as the hours dragged. It wasn't necessarily that he _wanted_ Jervis, but that his carnal impulses took control, like a starved animal in the presence of fresh meat. It was raw need, and he hated the way it made him feel, like a purposeless hedonist, a wanton sexual deviant bent on getting his own way. It made him feel like _Jervis_.

That being said, it was the blonde's responsibility to initiate any sort of fleshy contact between them, _not_ Jonathan's. Yet forty-eight hours later Jonathan sat horny as a bitch in heat with no sign of a good fuck in sight. Where had his longevity gone?

"What were you thinking of?" Jervis asked.

"Oh nothing. Not a thing."

"I see." Jervis sighed, brushing the stray flicks of yellow hair away from his eyes. He looked weak.

Jonathan went to their table and made a loud cough as he sat, hiding his concern for the other man while straightening his back to peer down at the plate in front of him. It was covered in some kind of rice, chopped with garlic, tomatoes, and oregano, creating an aroma to permeate the space between the two. "What is it?" He poked the rice carefully with his fork.

"It's Spanish rice. You can make it from a box."

"Oh… no fancy stuff tonight?"

"I'm tired." Jervis heaved a loud sigh.

Jonathan rolled his eyes, spearing the pile of rice with his fork. They chewed in silence, Jervis picking at his plate like a fussy child and Jonathan not really giving a damn until the little man put down his fork and propped up his chin in his hands with a frown. _This is getting ridiculous_, Jonathan thought. Jervis was supposed to be manic, hyper active, floating in the air like a fucking balloon on speed. But he just _sat_ there all dismal and dreary and depressed, being a killjoy as if the word were his last name. It didn't suit him; not at all.

"Listen, Tetch- I mean Jervis," Jonathan said. He placed his fork aside. "You seem down."

Jervis fastened his eyes to his plate. "Oh, it's nothing, dear. Nothing at all. I'm just tired. The past few nights, though they were comforting," he shot Jonathan a brief smile, "have not graced me with ample sleep."

Jonathan scowled and snatched up his fork, unwilling to accept the excuse. His movements were sharp as he took another bite and swallowed. "Yeah?" He chomped absently. "Well, why the fuck not? Do I _snore_?"

"No, no. It's not that, Jonathan."

"Then what the hell is wrong?"

Jervis shook his head and looked away, withdrawing from the conversation. Jonathan arched a brow and took a gulp of tea from the mug beside his plate. It was odd how he'd grown so accustomed to tea, the brewed liquid becoming a continual part of his diet within the last few weeks. He scowled and Jervis sat without a sound, abandoning his fork to raise a hand to his neck. The man's eyes slipped shut as he rubbed, rotating from shoulder to shoulder, and a sharp crack emitted as a joint popped. He sighed in relief. Jonathan couldn't help but eye like a predator. "Back hurt?" he asked.

"I suppose from stress, or perhaps that old mattress. Though don't get me wrong, I'm grateful it's there."

"Well you, uh… you want me to give you a massage?"

"Really?" Jervis sat up. "You don't mind?"

Jonathan slouched back, picking at his teeth with a jagged nail, and shook his head, motioning towards their bed with the other hand.

Jervis smiled and blew him a charming kiss from across the table. "Oh, Jonathan, how very kind of you."

"Yeah, yeah, just go."

Jervis hopped from his seat and scurried to the mattress, spreading out the fluffy cover Jonathan had bought and nestling down onto his stomach. Jonathan stood and said, "No, take off your shirt. It'll be easier."

Jervis complied, shedding his lounge-around tee as he arched his back, navy-blue cotton fluttering to the floor in a small heap. Clad in only his grey flannel pants, he took in a deep breath. Jonathan gulped at the site of bare skin, a texture he'd been anxious to feel, and sauntered to where Jervis lay. He pushed up his sleeves and sat, sucking on his bottom lip in as he imagined all the panting and gasping that could be done feverishly against their mattress. He cracked his knuckles, placing elongated fingers onto Jervis's pliable flesh, and began by rubbing his shoulders while listening to each soft sigh of praise.

Jonathan looked up at the ceiling as he felt himself becoming hard. He wanted Jervis, but couldn't tolerate the fact that his need governed his actions, a concept far too base and sordid for him to accept. Jervis made another contented sound and Jonathan couldn't take it anymore; a dark entity began to swamp his conscious mind as his hands clenched into fists of uncontrolled desire. He finally tore his eyes away from the ceiling and peered down. The sight of his companion made him blink stupidly. Jervis, under the calm of the massage, had fallen dead asleep.

Jonathan looked stunned and silently cursed his luck. Of course, the moment he was actually horny _without_ provocation Jervis falls flat into sleep, leaving him to wait eagerly with a hard-on as the man snoozed all peaceful like in dreamland. Jonathan pouted and sat down in his chair, breathing a conquered huff. After a moment he glanced to his left then to his right, head unmoving and arms remaining bent in a bad-tempered shrug. He gazed out to peer at Jervis, making sure the man was still asleep. Slowly, he opened his fly, reaching for his manhood.

With a tight grip and nimble fingers he jerked off in suppressed silence by the glowing lamp light, detached from the world outside his fantasies. Feeling a harsh orgasm commence, he slowed the friction and used a trick he'd learned back when he use to masturbate on a regular basis to extend the pleasure. It felt like he was going to explode, but he liked to deny himself climax until complete satisfaction. His head rolled forward, eyes opening to permit himself one final gaze at Jervis before letting go. He froze and his mouth dropped as he locked sight with a brilliant pair of blue eyes a few feet away.

Jervis had been watching him.

Jonathan was about to sprint out the door in embarrassment but found his eyes trailing down to see Jervis touching himself. He was even more stunned, not knowing whether to continue jerking himself off or to cease the exploit altogether and act as though it had never happened. He thought the latter a bit more difficult than the former. Regardless, he couldn't move, too shocked to resume his playing. Jervis gave a half lidded look and despite the embarrassment Jonathan started the rhythm again, feeling the onset of a new climax.

"Jonathan," Jervis said. He gestured with a come-hither finger.

Jonathan was on him in less than five seconds, pants bunched up around his thighs as he spat on his hand. Positioning himself, he mentioned in a hurried voice, "This isn't going to be long."

"Idon't care," Jervis replied.

The end result was an orgasm with the intensity Jonathan had only experienced maybe twice in his life. They waited when the act was finished, basking in the aftermath of their connection while Jervis pecked at Jonathan's neck and shoulders.

"I adore you," Jervis said. It seemed like he'd wanted to say something else but couldn't bring himself to do so.

Jonathan paid it no attention. "Mm," he replied simply.

"I'm so happy," Jervis said.

At that Jonathan decided to flip over to the opposite side of the bed. After came silence and Jonathan secretly took back his action, feeling a bit bad. He felt the mattress move but reached over to wrap his arms around Jervis before the man could leave, pulling him close. The two cuddled and Jonathan felt like falling asleep. Before doing so, he heard the soft sound of Jervis whispering in his ear. "I love you, my scarecrow."

Jonathan smiled, feeling euphoric. Jervis rubbed his back and hummed softly, the song crafting a blanket of harmony over them as they lay together locked in each other's arms.

* * *

Jonathan woke to the kettle whistling, the high-pitched noise piercing the silence from which he came. He stretched, arms and legs reaching off the mattress, and scratched his stomach. He turned back and felt around for the warmth that had been present when he had fallen asleep, but his arms felt nothing but the fluffy cover. He opened his eyes with an arched brow, and sat up as he realized he was alone. "Jervis?" he said. He looked over and was graced with Jervis's wide smile.

Comforted by the sight of his cohort, Jonathan laid down, his hands patting his grumbling stomach as he stared up at the ceiling in thought. Maybe he could re-heat the rice and have that as a late night snack, or ask Jervis to make him something on the sweet side, along with a hot cup of chamomile tea to put him back to sleep. Hopefully they had a lemon wedge. The sides of his mouth tugged upward, implying the ghost of a smile. Jervis was busy occupying himself with the tea kettle, little body clothed only in his navy-blue shirt, a round naked bottom exposed under the edge of the seams.

Jervis open the refrigerator they had managed to fix and fetched a lemon from out the side pocket attached to the door. He rolled it, reminding Jonathan of some sort of master chef- like the famous ones on television- and cut it in two with a serrated knife. Jonathan smiled, a tiny pinch of gratitude nudging the sour heart that beat in his chest. Chamomile and lemon wedge, his favorite.


	7. An Unexpected Guest

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: An Unexpected Guest  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,728  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Batman  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: R  
Summary: Jonathan and Jervis have an unexpected guest. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

**Author's note: **A while back I lost this chapter somewhere within the unending and voracious bowels of my computer. Anyway, the summary is below, but below _that_ is the actual chapter with a new author's note. Please read.

* * *

_[__Chapter Summary]_:Jonathan and Jervis are hanging out and Jonathan is a bit unhappy at the fact that they haven't done anything crime wise and he wants to pull a heist. So he goes out and gets the newspaper and gets a little light bulb above his head- while pissing Jervis off because he's not paying Jervis any attention whatsoever- and he proclaims they should sever the power lines in Gotham so they can steal a lot of dough from Gotham's First National Bank.

The idea is to hire some goons and have Jervis use his mind control technology to brainwash the receptionists while Jonathan cuts the lights. Thus Gotham police would be searching for the switch, and they run off with the cash.

This seems like a brilliant idea, and Jervis is like ok cool whatever that sounds great just love me, and Jonathan is all like no I am lazy and mean I want to sleep. So Jonathan lies down or something and Jervis is all puppy dog eyes and Jonathan gives in, letting Jervis sleep next to him. Only they don't really sleep, they start to mess around, being all flirty and stupid. Jonathan is all like take your tighty-whities off, I want some action, and Jervis kind of denies him, but then Jonathan sees a movement from the corner of his eye in the shadows.

You guessed it. Batman. Jonathan then proceeds to freak out and Jervis jumps up to defend him while Jonathan basically uses him for a shield. Batman is like 'omg what are you guys doing, this is gay' and Jonathan is like 'well you're an asshole' but inwardly cringes as he doesn't want to be maimed. Batman retorts with a 'well you two are gonna be caught anyway I'm just letting you know'. Jervis on the other hand is like 'yo what's up B-man come at me bro', and he runs to his hat and pulls out a derringer gun like a wee little magician. They all kind of stand there watching each other until Jervis looks at Jonathan for a brief moment and Batman is all over him like flies on a piece of shit- which Jervis kind of is- punching Jerv with a brutal upper cut to the stomach.

Jervis passes out and Batman just slings him over his shoulder and walks up to Jonathan, placing Jervis in his arms. By the way, Jonathan is naked right now, and is clutching that sheet over his bare manhood like a prude schoolgirl.

The Bat warns them and leaves and Jonathan dumps Jervis on the bed to sprint to the door in his unzipped pants, searching for the Bat in vain. Jervis comes to and is in a lot of pain, and his stomach is starting to bruise. Basically that is the end of the chapter, but Jonathan comes to find out Jervis isn't just a pint-sized pip-squeak ready to curl up in a ball, but that he doesn't take shit and is just as dangerous- perhaps even more so- then the next villain.

* * *

*****Author's Note:** Awesome news—a fan and fellow reader sent me a copied version of this chapter which I had previously lost. So I'm going to edit it, post it, and hope you'll all enjoy. I'm also going to leave the chapter summary that I wrote in its place because it's pretty funny. Anyway, **thank you, Bandit-sama** for letting me know you had a copy and sending it via email. I appreciate it, as I'm sure everyone else does!

**P.S.** This has been edited.

**An Unexpected Guest**

_[Actual Chapter]_

Morning came like any other in the days that followed since their coupling. They lay about, satisfied to read, eat, and sleep the hours away, but Jonathan was becoming increasingly worried in regards to their lack of villainous activity. They were criminals, were they not? They had a job to do and reputations to maintain. They were not just a pair of two-bit nobodies pulling off less then serious capers, no. They were criminal masterminds, brilliant individuals, yet they had been a bit side-tracked with the luxuries of their new partnered lifestyle.

Jonathan was less then enthused over this predicament, but knew he was partly to blame, being quite contented himself to simply laze about engaging in frequent sex and napping every other hour. He was getting anxious, though, and needed the excitement of a thrilling heist.

Jervis, on the other hand, seemed the happiest person alive; he enjoyed the absence of commitment to his criminal career—which he never much paid attention to anyway—and grew fond of the lax atmosphere of their peaceful hideaway. He baked and cleaned and boiled tea as always, but knew of Jonathan's restlessness. Though he sought his companion's calmer side, he didn't understand the absolute need for fear and recognition. As he stared, Jonathan sat on their couch, re-reading a newspaper purchased to find information on the Bat or any of their other unlawful colleges.

Nothing had been posted in the Gotham Times, but Jonathan, being the recalcitrant person that he was, remained unwilling to cease acquiring the paper even when Jervis begged him not to for fear he wouldn't return, but he was a hard man to convince when he had a purpose. Jervis accepted defeat, realizing his cohort needed more from life than just the average tediousness that plagued a normal existence—though sex seemed no part of this dreary circumstance, as they had been having a lot of it.

Jervis smiled. "Jonathan, dear, is your nose still stuck in that paper?" he asked, spreading a dollop of clotted cream on a buttermilk scone. He then layered a spoonful of strawberry jam on top. "Perhaps, we could find something small and work our way from there? No need to draw attention to ourselves, am I right?" He put the scone on a small plate and set it down in front of Jonathan who sat with his legs securely crossed.

Jonathan's hand reached out blindly, picking the scone up and bringing it to his mouth unhurried, eyes remaining fixed upon the paper in a trance. Jervis watched as his lover took a bite. After a minute Jonathan felt eyes lingering upon him. He glanced up to acknowledge the blonde's presence.

"This is good," he said, sounding rather annoyed. He gave Jervis a strained smile, turning back to his paper.

"Yes, it ought to be," Jervis replied, "They're freshly baked, and I was able to find the cream at a nearby store." He prepared a second scone for himself and turned back to Jonathan, taking a large bite as he continued to observe.

"Mm," Jonathan said.

Jervis let a low breath escape through his nose, emphasizing its release with a slight sound of impatience. Instead of speaking his annoyance, though, he opted for small talk, tinkering with his spoon as he daintily poured another dash of cream into his tea. "So…" he said while shifting from foot to foot, "last night was a bit of fun, eh? It's not often I stay up all night wracked with pleasures. You have a talent for keeping me awake… or should I say a certain _tool_."

Jonathan took a sip of tea without reply.

"I especially like your force. Who knew you could be so driven by the touch of another man." Jervis ended with a chuckle and smiled.

The statement did not seem to take. The sight made Jervis frown.

"It's quite hedonistic," he purred. His finger caressed the mug in his hand.

Nothing.

"Makes me wonder…" Jervis ventured. "Was there someone before I? You know… another _man_? I've seen the way Eddie looks at you sometimes…"

"Mm," Jonathan replied. He attempted to take another bite from his scone but missed his mouth, smearing a daub of jam on his chin.

Jervis clenched his jaw and shook his head. Though the neglect may have been unintended, he still shook with the want for Jonathan's attentions. Jonathan though, sat completely unaware as Jervis rung his hands together and gnawed at his lip.

"_Jonathan_," came Jervis's whine, "you're _ignoring_ me—"

But he was cut short as Jonathan raised a stern finger to hush him mid-sentence.

Unbeknownst to Jonathan, Jervis's face flushed a beet red as he struggled to stifle his anger. It took all the strength in his being to retain his emotions, but he let Jonathan finish the page, stormy eyes following the tall man's every budge. Jonathan yawned and knocked back another swig of his black tea, swirling the liquid with the lemon, and looked up to see a glowering Mad Hatter.

"What?" he asked and scratched his head.

"'_What_'?" Jervis repeated with a bark. " '_What'_?! I'll tell you _what_! You've been purposefully ignoring me, that's _WHAT_!"

Jonathan's nose crumpled at the display. He waved a limp hand in Jervis's direction, shrugging the man off. Jervis's mouth dropped open at the dismissal, ready to fight, but Jonathan's persuasive voice spoke over his infuriated pants.

"Jervis, listen. I can't very well pay attention to you every fractionof a second, now can I? Calm down. We need to focus on this. You said so yourself, we need funds and ours are becoming scarce."

"I_ also_ said Cobblepot would provide those funds."

Jonathan shot the other man an angry look. "You listen here, _Tetch_, I told you once and I will not tell you again. No help from the bird, you gotthat? He's playing you for a_ fool_."

Jervis glared, turning away and flicking his hair to the side in a snobbish motion. He continued the quarrel with his back turned. "Jonathan, that's completely ridiculous, the man is willing to help us for a petty cost and your _pride_ is passing up the opportunity. What is it with you? Why do you despise him so much? Did he forget to send you a Christmas card or something?"

"Don't turn your back to me."

Jervis straightened his posture. "I'll do what I damn well please."

Jonathan shot daggers into Jervis's back, but kept his cool, well aware of the blonde's manipulative nature. Besides, he was too tired from the night's activities. Messaging his temples, he turned back to his paper, flipping to the final page. He scratched his nose and started to peruse once more, but stopped at one specific article reviewing Gotham's electric relay stations. This piqued his interest. He began to read while Jervis mocked him from afar, sarcastically imitating him under his breath while he tidied the countertop.

"… don't see why we can't have him help us, Jonathan. I'm worried we'll be caught… even worse, _you'll _get caught. And then what will happen to me? _Huh_? I'll… I'll be left… alone…"

"Hm…"

Jervis nearly lost it then, but was startled when Jonathan jumped from his seat on the floor. He turned to Jervis and exclaimed, "Tetch, Look at this! Look!"

Jervis's temper subsided as Jonathan slapped the paper down upon the table, positioning it right-side up. Jervis read the article, brows furrowed in uncertainty. "It's an article on Gotham's electrical stations. Yes? So what? What does this have to do with anything?"

"_This_ is what we can do!"

"I'm still not understanding you."

"This is _how_ we can get some money! We can shut down the station. This will cut off the power to the portion of the city where Gotham's First Bank is! Then, with some hired goons, we snatch the money while the GCPD fumble around in the dark scared, confused, and fucking_ clueless_!"

"Hmm…" Jervis contemplated, hand stroking his chin as he considered. "Or we could just skip hiring the help, alter the minds of the tellers, and let them do the work for us… I mean, they're already in the bank."

Jonathan nodded, ecstatic at the chance to don his scarecrow outfit and less at the chance to obtain money, though he did need it to purchase the components for his fear toxins. Jervis looked rather lighthearted and continued mulling over their plan, palm pressed to his cheek in heavy thought, while Jonathan paced about the room in deep contemplation, pushing his sluggish mind to draw a conducive strategy that would, with any bit of luck, be successful. He could feel Jervis's eyes upon him as he paced.

"What a frabjous idea, Jonathan. Simply marvelous! What would we do without your masterful mind? Now how would we go about this clever plan, my dear?"

"You go to the bank, slip a few mind-control chips in place; I go to the station and shut it down, then you control the tellers to get the cash while it's dark." Jonathan signaled the plan out with his hands, "We'll ride through and pick up the sacks, like one, two, three—" he snapped, "—and we're done. Then we'll have a sufficient amount of money. God, I can finally work on my fear toxins—"

"Yes!" Jervis interrupted. "And I can develop another micro-chip, an even better one!" He threw his hands up rapturously.

"Right…" Jonathan's enthusiasm suddenly dwindled.

"This is a splendid idea, quite splendid indeed. But what about the Bat?" Jervis looked him straight in the eyes, questioning with a raised brow.

Jonathan scowled. "I'm not afraid of him."

"I do hope he won't crash our lovely party."

"He won't," Jonathan said. "He's been too damn busy with the mafia. Someone shot the Falcone's son, and this whole 'Holiday' thing is getting out of control. He'll never notice our little endeavor; he's got the fucking mob to deal with."

"Where did you hear that, my dear?"

"The paper. I actually _read_ it, you know."

"My word," Jervis put a hand to his chin. "Whoever did that, well… it's surely off with their head."

"Yeah, but it works out for us." Jonathan picked up the article about the Falcone and his son and presented it to Jervis.

After showing Jervis, he tread amiably towards their mattress, sitting down with a plop as he realized how drained he felt. He nudged off his pants, spreading out over the bed's length while relaxing on his side, clad only in a cotton shirt and black briefs.

Jervis stood skimming the article Jonathan had given him and pondered about the true identity of the killer known as 'Holiday', then decided it wasn't important and chucked the paper aside, glancing at his sleepy companion and stepping next to the bed. Sea blue eyes trailed down the length of Jonathan's torso, gliding along his narrow waist and drifting over the subtle curve of his boney hip. Any lasting peevishness between them dissolved.

Jervis admired Jonathan's build for a minute more, then unzipped his pants and shed his shirt to climb into bed. Jonathan shrugged his shoulders and arched his back while trying to get in a comfy position, lifting his arm off Jervis and rolling over onto his stomach. Slipping the same arm underneath a pillow, he buried his face in the plush fabric and breathed deep. Jervis whimpered at his side and rubbed him with a soft cheek, and when he turned, his head peeping out from the pillow's fluffy folds, he was met with an exaggerated, puppy-dog expression.

Jonathan rolled his eyes as he slipped his nearest arm around Jervis's shoulders. Jervis chirped in delight and made himself cozy next to his beloved, content to be held in a partial embrace.

They laid there well into the afternoon, eventually settling into each other's arms. Jonathan fell in and out of sleep, lightly dozing next to Jervis as the blonde huddled close.

Soon Jervis's hands were wandering, and his lips went to kiss Jonathan's chin. He licked the taller man's throat, making a little chain of saliva connect them before splitting as he drew back.

Jonathan's right eye popped open and he stared straight ahead, fixing on the white door of their fridge. He twitched and curled back to view Jervis's sly grin. Now really wasn't the time, but he didn't shy away, so Jervis took that as a chance to go further and mounted Jonathan's waist.

"How your face flushes under my touch," the blonde man said. "Could it be that you desire me?"

"You know the answer."

"But is it bad enough?" Jervis clutched his fist in gesture.

Jonathan slipped his hands around Jervis's midsection, securing him in place. "I can show you," he replied.

"Tell me," Jervis said. He emphasized his control with a firm grind against Jonathan's pelvis.

Jonathan said nothing, though his thoughts were processing a mile a minute. He had never been good with the erotic; it was somewhat frightening when right before him. But the potential feel of the blonde's round derriere colliding against his thrusts was a bit enticing to say the least, and it gave him courage. His expression grew dark as he gripped Jervis tightly, uncaring if his hold was too firm.

"Strip," he suddenly commanded. Jervis had on a pair of grey briefs, yet he was still over dressed for Jonathan's liking.

"Not until you tell me. How badly does this carpenter want a bite of his oyster?"

Jonathan spun his midriff, hurling Jervis onto the mattress. He seized Jervis's wrists and growled, "I'm sick of your shit, Jervis. I'm sick of playing these games. I'm going to fuck you now, and you're going to like it. Is that clear?"

Jervis didn't respond, instead letting his lips quirk up to one side. He batted his lashes, his defiance infuriating.

"Remove your clothes," Jonathan repeated.

The word 'no' came sliding off Jervis's tongue, sexy yet still maddening. It made Jonathan's eye twitch; he hated being defied, especially by a little nobody like Jervis Tetch. The blonde man was puny in comparison, which admittedly made sex all the more empowering. But to hell with the games; he just wanted to fuck and come without Jervis's shit-eating grin afterwards.

"Do it _now_," he whispered and pushed Jervis off the bed.

Jervis stood upright with a prideful look and crossed his arms. Jonathan lay back, propping himself up with a pillow, then took off his own clothes. He waited for the other man to comply, expectancy showing in his sienna eyes, when he glanced up at a movement he caught from the corner of the room.

Wait.

_What?_

He did a double-take, ignoring Jervis's perplexed look as he struggled for breath. His mouth hung open as a shadowy figure stepped out of the darkened corner of their room.

Batman.

"_Shit_!" Jonathan shouted, flinging the bed cover over his exposed erection, eyes wide in shock.

Jervis stared in confusion then turned around to meet rock, hard abdominals covered in solid, black Kevlar. He peered up to see a chiseled chin with fierce eyes masked in a cowl. The room was silent, save for Jonathan's alarmed huffing.

The masked vigilante rumbled in a deep, raspy voice, "Tetch. Crane. What the _hell _are you doing?"

Jervis jumped at the booming voice and vaulted towards Jonathan's side, spreading his arms out like an eagle in protection for his companion. Jonathan grabbed the outstretched arms and yanked the man up on the mattress, using him as a shield, hopeful the blonde would block any blows. Jervis took this display as protection and hugged Jonathan back. They sat in the center of the mattress, near nude, holding each other securely while glaring at the dark knight standing before them.

Again, silence.

The masked vigilante took a step closer, his intimidating, black boot sounding heavy as it thumped on the floor. Jervis bore his teeth and hissed like a cat, daring the knight to take another step forward, but Jonathan shushed him quickly and covered his mouth.

Jervis whacked Jonathan's hand away and spoke in a curt voice, "Come to pay us a visit, Batman? We wish you would have informed us first, I could have made refreshmemphfff—" Jonathan forcibly covered his mouth once again.

"_Shut up_," Jonathan hushed under his breath.

"Crane…" Batman thundered again, contemplating. "I didn't expect you both to stick together." He took another step.

Jervis struggled against Jonathan's hold. It might have been laughable if Jonathan hadn't been peering up at one of the most frightening people in Gotham City. He could have cried. They had been doing so well, but this vicious beast had to show up at the utmost inconvenient and unexpected of times. Damn it, he_ knew_ Jervis had blabbed more to the bird then he'd let on. They should have relocated the instant he mentioned it.

"What are you doing?" the Batman repeated, trying to hide his confusion.

"We're…" Jonathan hesitated. There was no point in explaining. "What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" he asked instead.

The Bat's eyes widened then settled back into a harsh crease as his hands motioned down to his belt, intent obvious. Jervis squirmed out of Jonathan's grasp and seized his top hat which had been placed upon the table. He flipped it over, ripping out a sliver, .22 caliber, double barrel derringer, small in size but every bit as deadly as a larger firearm. He pointed the weapon venomously, scowl plastered on his face.

"Kindly back away, sir, or I'll be forced to shoot."

Jonathan watched in disbelief as the dark knight drew back to his original position near the corner, hands held up in defense.

"I'm not here to fight and I'm not here to march you two back to Arkham. Not yet." His hands fell down by his sides.

"Oh really? Well, how thoughtful of you to stop by for an unexpected visit."

Jonathan sat still as he witnessed the two men interact, hopeful that if the need called for it Jervis wouldn't miss his mark… or that the Batman would be satisfied thrashing one criminal for the evening.

"I'm here for information. I didn't realize…" he paused, eyeing Jonathan suspiciously. "You were here together. I—"

"Oh, so you thought it was just _me_ here then? Just poor, little Jervis Tetch, all alone without anyone to defend him! Well, I can assure you, you insolent animal, I'm as dangerous as the next rogue, believe me." The gun made a sound as it was cocked, emphasizing Jervis's point.

"I need information," the Bat stated again. "I need to know if either of you know, or have heard anything about 'Holiday'."

"Why don't you go ask the Penguin, seeing as how you're such close friends?" Jonathan replied.

In that moment, while Jervis was distracted, the dark knight flung a metal batarangs and hit the gun from Jervis's grip. The derringer clattered to the floor and Jervis yelped in startled pain. Two long strides and the Batman was there swooping down fast and giving the blonde a staggering, uppercut punch to the gut, knocking the wind from his lungs. Jervis's body jerked upward with the blow and doubled over, gasping for breath as he clutched at his stomach. He curved forward, about to collapse, but the Bat caught him with one strong arm and gathered him up to toss over a broad shoulder.

Jonathan sat, immobile as he watched his partner lose consciousness. The dark knight calmly walked towards him, face unreadable, and stopped at the side of the bed. He glared down at Jonathan, letting a minute pass before he carefully handed Jervis's lifeless body to the other rogue. Jonathan grimaced and blocked his head, thinking the Bat might strike him as well, but peeked up threw his fingers to see the man offer Jervis's limp figure. Jonathan collected the blonde man without a moment's hesitation, cradling him with a frightened look about his features, bottom jaw quivering. Without a backward glance the Bat moved towards the exit, swiftly picking up the fallen gun and tucking it under his belt.

"You may as well turn yourselves in; you won't be free for much longer."

He stepped out the doorway and disappeared.

Jonathan was silent, not making so much as a twitch until he was sure the vigilante was gone. He rolled Jervis carelessly onto the mattress and jumped out from under the bed covers, slipping on his pants to run to the door. He peered up into the shrouded roof of the factory building, then rolled his head back and breathed a long sigh of relief, palm held to his pounding forehead.

Back on the mattress, Jervis stirred, moaning in pain and clutching at his stomach. He pressed his head into the bed springs and curled into a ball. "Oooohh… that… oh, that _brute_… uuuhhh… uh, that wicked… evil—" He coughed. "—evil _jabberwock_…"

Jonathan gave one last glance about the factory then turned around, facing his companion who was attempting to sit up but pathetically crumpled to the bed with another strangled moan. He walked to the Jervis's side, pushed him back on the mattress with opened palms, and looked down at his stomach.

"Jesus, Jerv…" he said with a grimace.

"Ooooohhh," Jervis wailed. "My lord… I-I think he broke something, Jona… Jonathan…"

Jervis's face contorted into a look of pure agony, and he clutched at his abdomen again. Jonathan shooed his companion's hands away and inspected the blow further. The man's stomach was black, blue and purple, blossoming out in the shape of a flower and curling around his right side. Jonathan hissed again, his lips stretched over his teeth as if he were the one who had been hit.

"Jervis… yeah, no, nothing's broken," he said, nudging his fingers ever so lightly into Jervis's belly. "Jesus… he nailed you good. This is gonna' be one hell of a bruise, Jervis."

"Oh merciful lord… ooh, I think I'm going to hurl." Jervis's blue eyes lolled back into his head.

Jonathan stood and searched the room, finding a dampened rag. He held the cool cloth to Jervis's stomach, rubbing lightly, and sighed. He shook his head and added with a chuckle, "You're an idiot, Jervis. I suppose it's good that I'm around."


	8. Snakes and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Snakes and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 4,015  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: Heavy R  
Summary: Jonathan shares some of his past. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes,  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Snakes and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails**

"Your move," Jonathan said. He leaned back in his chair. He and Jervis were both engrossed in a diligent game of chess, and contrary to his earlier disposition towards their first game, he actually wanted to win this one.

A day had passed since the Bat had broken into their hideout, and though it had been a frightful encounter, their spirits remained unshaken. Their plan was to rob Gotham's First National Bank the following day at six o'clock, when the sun was set and the teller's were about to leave. Then the next step was to abandon their hideout as quickly as possible. Jonathan was sure the Bat wouldn't come back for a few more days, but he wanted to leave anyway given the Penguin also knew of their location and God only knew who he had told. That was all Jonathan needed- the Riddler, Ivy, or _worse_, the Joker walking in on him and Jervis engaged in a passionate romp, bare and defenseless against the infinite jeers the sight would cause. He shivered. No. That would be the end of his masculinity for sure.

Jervis took his time, staring down at the chess board with his head held up by his fists, his cheeks resting against the flats of his knuckles, making his lips pucker out in a child-like fashion. He titled his head, contemplating his next move carefully, and placed his fingers on a white bishop. Both rooks, a knight, and a few of Jervis's pawns had been taken, but the utmost important King, and the lesser but still important Queen, had not. He had to watch carefully though, as Jonathan was a hard competitor. No matter, the last couple moves had ensured the game in Jervis's favor.

Jonathan had lost his queen, both knights, a rook, a bishop, and more than half his pawns, but held his head in confidence as Jervis let a sly smirk creep its way on his face. Jervis drew back his prim fingers, placing them instead on his knight, and took the only move that was plausible- at least to him anyway. He snatched up Jonathan's pawn and gave a harmless look. Jonathan slumped in his seat but quickly veiled his disappointment and leaned forward, squinting at the board.

"You're quite the opponent. This game has been tough," Jervis said as he took a sip of tea then puffed a drag from his clove. Jonathan had bought some smoke for him upon his request, seeing as how he didn't have his pipe and was craving the palpable taste of tobacco.

"Thanks," Jonathan replied. "So how's the stomach feeling?" He took a puff from his own cigarette like an amateur.

"Oh, it's alright. Its feeling better, thanks to nurse Crane," Jervis said as he watched Jonathan place a hand on rook while remaining indifferent towards his teasing. Jervis chuckled, but feigned ignorance, opposed to upsetting Jonathan's efforts. Jonathan felt Jervis's eyes follow his hand as if shifted down the board, knocking over the man's ivory bishop. Jervis smiled; such a petty sacrifice it was, considering he now had an opening to Jonathan's king. One move later and Jonathan had nowhere else to place his key piece. He gawked at the board as he replayed the past five moves in his head.

"Check mate, love," Jervis whispered.

He looked up at Jervis, who smiled back with a guiltless grin, his fingers laced below his chin.

"Well…" Jonathan said. He shut his eyes and rubbed them with the balls of his fists. "I must be tired. Um… good game?"

"Very good game. You're quite the contender, darling. Very close game, very close."

"Of course. I'm tired is the thing, so it was a bit unfair."

"Oh, I agree. We don't give our best when we need our rest, that's what I always say."

"Sure."

Jervis let out a giggle and sighed, giving his partner a half-lidded gaze while he took a lengthy drag of his clove. Plumes of smoke escaped his mouth as he breathed out. "You really are amazing." Jonathan felt awkward but didn't oppose the man. Jervis batted his lashes while taking another long drag and placed his free hand upon Jonathan's. "I mean it, Jonathan. Your intellect exceeds far above your peers. I am privileged to be by your side."

"Uh, yeah. I, you- uh, I mean thanks but the compliments aren't necessary," Jonathan said hastily. "Really, it's not necessary." He paused. "You really mean that?"

"Jonathan, I'm surprised at you," Jervis said. "Would I lie?"

Jonathan blushed, turning his head away shyly, a reaction Jervis hadn't seen before. It appeared the blonde had struck a nerve, one that was defiantly worth plucking. Jervis beamed and went on. "Jonathan, you're truly gifted; you have a profound aura and an astute mind. You have such an impressive personality… and you have a nice body."

Jonathan drew his hand away from under Jervis's grip and scowled. "That's not funny, Tetch." Jonathan said and sneered.

"I didn't mean for it to be funny. I'm serious. And please, it's _Jervis_."

"Whatever," Jonathan said, taking a smoke, the sweet clove smoldering like his temperament.

Jervis sighed, and drew his own hand back to rest by Jonathan's queen. There was so much speculation about Jonathan's past how could he possibly know what to say that wouldn't cause unwanted memories? Jervis was curious, but the hard part was getting Jonathan to talk about such a subject. "Fair is fair, is it not, dear? I won. I get to decide what we do next."

"You know, I never actually agreed to those terms, you just put that on the table."

"Ah, ah, ah," Jervis said and wagged his finger. "I never heard an objection to those conditions. Now… are you going to cooperate, or do I have to put my foot down?"

Jonathan smirked and felt his cock twitch. "What did you have in mind? Maybe a little game of… _pat-a-cake_?"

He watched as his companion brushed a casual hand through stray locks of golden hair. The waves fell back in place and Jonathan's breath caught in his throat, but he recovered, leered, and took a long suck from his cigarette while leaning forward. He blew the smoke in Jervis's face. Jervis reacted with a dainty cough, waving his hand about to part the smoke around his head. Jonathan settled back in his seat; the predatory leer still on his lips.

"Well, actually…" Jervis coughed again. "I was thinking we could… chat."

Jonathan was caught off guard and opened his mouth to say something but closed it, confused.

"Talk to me… tell me about your past."

"What?" Jonathan asked.

"I want to know more about you…" Jervis replied. "Find out what makes you tick. Tick, tock! Tick, tock! Like a clock, my dear. Did you know the one I have is two days slow?"

"There's not much to tell," Jonathan said listlessly. "I've been here all my life, grew up in Gotham… that's pretty much it, Jerv."

"But there must be more to it than that, dear. What about your parents, your mother and father? What were they like?"

"You know I'm not particularly open towards this topic." Jonathan crossed his arms.

"Come on, Jonathan, what are you afraid of? You think I'll laugh at you? Tell me, I want to know more. Talk to me. We were on your parents, dear."

"I didn't have any."

Jervis looked startled. "Oh… I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Jonathan took a sip of his tea. He swallowed and glared down at the liquid, then took a breath and started. "I grew up in Gotham City. I was born at Gotham General Hospital. I'm not sure who my parents were but from what my sources have found my mother was street trash, a hooker who had the misfortune of getting knocked up. So… for whatever reason she just decided to have me. As for my father, it's obvious he wasn't around. Was probably just some guy, desperate to get laid or whatever. I suppose I was an accident, but… I don't know. I don't really want to." He took a pawn in his hand and began to fiddle with it while Jervis looked on, fascinated by his detached attitude. "I was taken to an orphanage outside the city. It was very rural out there, you know, like more upstate? I think they bull dozed the shit hole down, but, you know, I've never actually cared to find out. So they fed me, clothed me, and sheltered my ass for eighteen years… and it was my own personal living _hell_."

Jervis acknowledged the statement with a nod and waited for Jonathan to continue.

Jonathan sneered. "The children were cruel," he said. "They just didn't like me, God knows why, and they always picked on me. It wouldn't stop. I told the teachers, the administrative, the fucking janitor, no one did anything. I just didn't know how to defend myself, you know? How does a little boy defend himself against a world that hates him?" There was genuine question in those dark eyes.

Jervis could only nod and pay his partner every ounce of consideration he could muster.

"I wanted to leave," Jonathan continued. "I needed to get away, but being a ward of the state I had nowhere to turn, no known family, nothing. I had nothing." He sucked on his cigarette and pulled it away, examining the cylinder while the end burned red hot.

Jervis cast his eyes down in respect, but Jonathan hadn't finished.

"You know I still remember it … so vividly. I remember the names, the scoffs, the ceaseless pranks. I can remember once, when I was like… oh, maybe ten, eleven? I had to be young, younger then the boys that picked on me. It was late, probably one in the morning or something, and we'd all been put to sleep like any other night. Lights were out at eight o'clock sharp, and on the weekends it was nine. Anyway, I had to go to the bathroom, which were walk-in ones, you know? Like the one's at schools? So I race down the hall and I really have to go, and I get to the door and bolt in. There just happened to be five kids there, but they weren't there to use it, they were just there to smoke, which was prohibited on the premises. Unfortunately for me, they were the particular punks who loved to treat me like trash. Just my luck.

So seeing these assholes grin, I turn around to leave, and then this one kid, his name was Bo Griggs, biggest asshole I ever met, he puts his arm around my shoulder like we're pals, and his friends start in with the names, you know… like scrawny fag, skinny bitch, and fucking scarecrow to name just a few.

They rough me up. They usually stopped at some point but this time they didn't. Not even when I begged them, when my nose was bloody and my eye was beginning to swell. They laughed some more and after a while I thought they were through. I was huddled up on the floor, trying to block the blows, and then Bo lifts me up by the collar, and mind you this boy is like sixteen or seventeen and big, and he throws me up against a stall door, pinning my arms under my chest. I'm struggling and frantic and scared as hell, because he fucking goes and rips done my pants. I'm thinking, my god, is this kid going to rape me? So I'm kicking and screaming but the walls in that place were like sound proof or something. You couldn't make out a goddamned gunshot, the walls were that thick.

So anyway, they strike a match… and they light up. They smoke for a moment, laughing, and then they hand Bo a cigarette, and he takes it and inhales."

Jonathan stopped and Jervis watched him, hanging on his every word.

Jonathan sighed. "Then he burned me. Singed my bare ass and fucking cackled… like a damn hyena. Then they all started doing it." He started to imitate the action of his past torturers with the cigarette.

Jervis stared, stunned, and turned his clove upside down to smother it on the table top, sickened by the smoke.

"That wasn't the worst part, though," Jonathan said. He was starting to wring his shirt in his palms. "The worst part was while they were doing this, I just couldn't keep my bladder from, you know… _going_- whether from fear or holding it so damn long, but," he cast his head down in shame, "I pissed myself. All over the stall door and on my pants. And Jesus, did they think that was funny."

Jervis was silent for a few minutes more. After the pause he asked what happened next.

Jonathan looked up with a vacant expression. "They left. After they were finally done laughing they left."

"What about you?" Jervis asked.

"I cried. I sat on my knees in my own piss and cried. I can't remember how long… maybe a couple hours? I've never cried that hard in my life." _Scratch that… there was Becky._

Jervis swallowed, trying to keep his compassion from sounding piteous. "So no one came? No one found you there?"

"Nope."

"What did you do next?"

"I got it together. I stopped crying and got up, cleaned myself off, and the next day I went to the nursing station for the wounds. I didn't want to show her but she insisted, so I did. Turns out they were pretty bad. But they healed ok and you can barely make out the scars now." Jonathan uncrossed his arms, setting them on his lap. "It wasn't the last time something that bad would happen, and it wouldn't be the last time I cried that hard, but that… that was the first time I really felt bad for myself. I felt so sorry for the kid I was. I still do."

Jervis waited then reached out a hand to hold Jonathan's. He kissed the backside sweetly and massaged it, then kissed it again. He was about to release it when it turned upward, caressing the side of his jaw with a thumb. It pulled away suddenly. He looked up to meet Jonathan's standoffish gaze, his crossed arms saying 'don't touch me'.

"You pity me," Jonathan said with a stern expression. "Don't. I've spent too many nights feeling sorry for myself; sorry that I was born into a word that hates me. I'm sick of it. So don't even think about feeling bad for me, because I've done a lot for myself. I don't want to be pitied I want to be recognized- no- _revered_ for coming so far. I mean… look! Look at my degree, look what I've done for myself!"

Jervis nodded. "Yes."

"Don't _patronize_ me."

"I wasn't-"

"I graduated with a 4.0 and I have a master's in psychology. I was top of my class, Jervis! I was an honor student! I was," he struggled for the right word, "a _loser_ there too."

Jervis frowned and reached for his companion but Jonathan started up again.

"But I graduated with barely enough to get by, I mean I had to work two jobs, and on top of that I had papers and homework, plus I had to pay rent and buy my own food because I couldn't afford to live on campus. My god, I sacrificed and sacrificed for that degree, that recognition, that fucking title! I found a way, and no one acknowledged me for it. No one applauded my efforts. No one but Professor Bramowitz."

Jervis cracked a small smile at that bit of positivity.

"But he betrayed me. That bastard betrayed me. I was a professor, Jervis, a _professor_. That was my title. That was my sweat and blood, my long nights awake and alone, and they took it away from me. The fucking Dean and fucking Bramowitz. Why? Because I was trying to prove a point. A very brilliant point about the nature of fear. About how fear conducts itself and how it plays an important role in our lives and especially how it's viewed when it's real. Not when it's written down on a piece of paper and passed in for a fucking grade… They needed to feel it, to know it was _real_."

While Jonathan was busy rambling, Jervis had gotten up from his chair, determined to comfort his friend, unwilling to let Jonathan continue, lest he propel himself into a futile discourse that could end in tears… for Jervis that was. If Jonathan's emotions ran too wild, he might up and leave. Jervis took Jonathan's arm, tugging it. The trauma of Jonathan's childhood, the fight for his independence, and the tragic downfall of his career where the cataclysmic points, the key elements that formed him into the vicious, bitter, reclusive person that sat before Jervis in pain.

Jervis took the man's face in his hands and kissed him, in which Jonathan unexpectedly responded. Their lips locked together, tongues entwining, only separating for brief moments when the need to breathe arose. As soon as their lungs had been filled their lips fastened together again, the need for each other's touch swelling, accelerating as Jonathan's grip tightened around Jervis's waist.

Jervis wrenched his mouth away. "Will you come join the dance?" As soon as the words had left his mouth Jonathan pushed him back at arm's length with a fickle expression.

"I'm not in the mood," Jonathan said.

Jervis blinked in disbelief. "I understand."

Jervis let his hands drop, watching his solemn lover stand and amble towards their bed. Jonathan's legs collapsed underneath him and he rolled over onto his side, snuggling up to himself with his back turned, exhausted. Jervis thought it best to leave him alone and decided to review their plans once more, examining the additional arrangements while also giving his micro-chips a few small alterations, tweaking the fine craftsmanship just so to adhere to their specific needs.

Next Jervis did some cleaning, not because he had to, but more to keep his active hands occupied. He shuffled about their hideout while the soft snores from his partner put him at ease. When he was finished, he then opted to bake. Several hours had passed and after an extra twenty minutes the stove timer went off with a ding, and the ever traditional chocolate-chip cookies were done. Jervis looked up from his book, closing the cover and setting it down on the table.

While he slid the tray out of the oven he came to realize one of the great many perks of living with Jonathan, and that was the books. Jervis adored literature and found Jonathan's taste in novels quite appealing. Sadly, they didn't have all of his collection, seeing as how Jonathan's belongings were confiscated by the police after his arrest, but he did manage to salvage about half which he had taken the liberty of hiding in a secret storage unit; some of his favorite compilations no doubt.

There were the more famous titles, like _Catcher in the Rye_ and _Sherlock Holmes_, and of course Jervis's very favorite, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_, plus the sequel _Through the Looking Glass_. He also had other titles such as Clive Barker's _The Hellbound Heart_ and _Mister B. Gone_, which Jervis had been immersed in before the timer went off, as well as a plethora of works by H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King. There were so many titles and so many authors: Dean Koontz, Thomas Harris, Peter Straub, Bret Easton Ellis, Simon Wood, Anthony Burgess, Walt Whitman, Bram Stoker, Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe. He had numerous books on psychology and the subject of fear and fears of psychology and psychology of fear and fear in the mind and the minds reaction to fear and fear as a reaction to life and life without fear and so on, the list never ended. He had books on astronomy and anatomy, art and poetry, science and chemistry- chem. apparently being his second preferred hobby alongside the study of fear. There was fiction and non-fiction, biographies and memoirs, though most were horror based or sinister in plot. He even had a few R.L. Stine books which made Jervis laugh. The man was literally a walking bibliophile and it made Jervis beam as he set the cookies on a paper plate to cool, smile turning into a smirk as he thought of their recent expedition out to the secret storage unit. He had found that Jonathan, believe it or not, also had a substantial stash of porn along with erotic fiction. Jervis chuckled to himself.

Though the only book his lover didn't own, and didn't want to own, was Washington Irving's _The Legend of Sleepy Hallow_. Jervis had been expectant of Jonathan to own such a tale, seeing as how it would fit his collection of dark literature, but when he had questioned his partner about the issue he received a cold glare. He had questioned further, intrigued by his cohort's reaction, but when Jonathan threatened to smack him he shrugged and let the topic flounder.

Jervis gave his head a quick shake, propelling himself back to reality, and placed the last cookie on the paper plate. He was considering whether or not to rouse his slumbering counterpart when he heard the bed springs creak. He turned his head and watched as Jonathan stretched out on the mattress, yawing like a lion. Jonathan sat upright and twisted his back, seeing Jervis as he turned to his right side. He gave a terse smile and angled his neck, to the left then to the right. Jonathan wasn't a nice person when awakened from sleep but Jervis waited, knowing the aroma from the cookies would reach Jonathan's nostrils to coerce him from his foul mood.

Indeed, as had been anticipated, Jonathan sniffed the air and like a light switching on, his face transformed from spiteful to humane. He got up and walked to Jervis's side, eyeing the cookies with genuine delight.

"Mm, what have we here? Something for me? Aww, _sweetie_, you shouldn't have." He ended with a sing-song, snide-like tone.

"Why are you such a dick, Jonathan?" Jervis said with genuine curiosity.

Jonathan faltered, taken aback by the straightforwardness of the simple question. The blonde never spoke to him like that. A myriad of expressions flashed across his face, from anger to confusion back to anger. He lingered next to Jervis with a snippy hand on his hip, waiting to be offered a cookie.

"Would you like some, dear?" Jervis asked.

Jonathan nodded. "_Please_."

The word sounded wrong rolling off his tongue, one reason being that he didn't use it too often, but Jervis was satisfied and waved his hand towards the plate. Jonathan nabbed three and headed for their table, sitting down with one in his mouth. Jervis took a small one and followed. They sat chewing, Jervis voicing his regret of their having no milk, and Jonathan ignoring him.

Jervis swallowed his last bite and asked. "Another game?"

Jonathan continued to chew, and signaling a halfhearted yes. Jervis set the board and started to play, white on his side, black on Jonathan's. After some time it was clear Jervis was not going to win; not because Jonathan was playing better than him, but because he was purposefully losing. Jonathan looked elated, and he gave Jervis a smug smile. Jervis smiled back and held up his hands to both sides in a shrug, gesturing a confounded expression. After another ten minutes the game was over, Jonathan reigning victorious.

"Well, well, Jonathan. Looks like you've gotten enough rest. That previous game really wasn't your best was it, dear?"

"Damn straight," Jonathan replied.

Jervis sighed. "So… you won. It's your turn to decide what we do next."

Jonathan's eyes shot upward. A wicked smile waxed upon his face. "I think I have an idea…"

Jervis shuddered.


	9. The Heist

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: The Heist  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,065  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Police Chief Gordon, Doctor Joan Leland, Batman  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan and Jervis prepare for the job. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes,  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**The Heist**

Harsh, hazel eyes narrowed; they twitched and blinked in an effort to stop the abhorrent emotions surging through their owner. He couldn't understand these awful sentiments; they had to be false, or God help him misplaced. He wanted to stay isolated, wanted to keep his solitude, and above all wanted to divert his current physical needs to that of books once more, letting the covers and pages provide him with whatever companionship he might crave. But for the life of him, he couldn't shake the hypnotic satisfaction that had awakened inside.

Glancing down at the naked man in his arms, his dark eyes outlined the round face, the fine eyebrows and high-cut cheek bones and the tangled, blonde cropped hair that covered the man's scalp. He could feel, smell and taste this man, though his mouth remained closed. It was like cinnamon, reminding Jonathan of holidays.

How could he summarize his feelings? It was more than mere friendship- he couldn't pretend that it wasn't- but he reviled the emotions that came with this blonde haired man that christened him lover… Were they lovers? Were they having sex for the sake of their own remitting sanity, or was it that he felt something more?

Relationships were a foreign land to him, its hills and valleys gone uncharted since he was a teenager. Once he had looked to explore within that realm, but it ended badly, and he never ventured there again. Demure though he was by nature, and forbid were the words from escaping his mouth, the sex between him and Jervis was beyond phenomenal. It was something he could indulge in far more often than he was comfortable with. It was like going off world, and there he found that land he had abandoned so long ago in his younger years.

It had been customary that Jervis rise first at dawn, repeating that cliché phrase _early bird catches the worm _while fixing to make a large breakfast for them both, but this morning he lay asleep like a log. On the other side of the spectrum, Jonathan had not been capable of sound sleep, awakening throughout the night by his racing thoughts. He had given up sometime around six in the morning to lay in the dark, listening to Jervis breath as he watched the tiny rivulet of growing sunlight peek underneath their doorframe. Thoughts had cleared he felt his arousal subside. Wheezing his relief, he watched Jervis murmur and clutch at their pillow. He couldn't resist a smile, but quickly scowled at his initial reaction to the sight. It was feeling, and feeling could only end in pain.

A raucous tone sizzled through the folds of his consciousness, _Hey, diddle, diddle._

_Not true, _Jonathan replied.

_The cat and the fiddle… the cow jumped over the moon._

_I know, but it's not true._

_I see the moon and the moon sees me, the moon sees the someone I'd like to see._

_Don't be mad… please._

_The old man is snoring… Bumped his head and went to bed, and couldn't get up in the morning._

_Please, don't be upset with me, we can share._

_Rain, rain, go away… come another day… Johnny wants to play._

With that, Jonathan let himself fade to the back of his own psyche, letting Scarecrow take the reins.

As if on cue, Jervis's eyes fluttered, and he let out a yawn. He sniffed, twitching his distinctive nose, and reached for his pocket watch upon the night stand, making the bed cover drape his hip to expose the top of his ass. The time was ten past noon. "Oh lord… my, my, my. I can't believe I slept so late." He yawned again. "You awake, Jonathan?"

When turning over Jervis flinched in momentary fright upon seeing his partner's face twisted into a creepy, grin with eyes as wide as saucers that stared up at the ceiling. Jonathan's breath was heavy and his face unflinching, and Jervis didn't know what to say. After another eerie moment Jervis's shock diminished and he brushed off Jonathan's bizarre behavior as a rare want to be mischievous.

"Well, you're cheerful this morning now, aren't you?" Jervis asked.

Jonathan said nothing, Cheshire cat grin still on his face.

Jervis sat up and stared down, tilting his head to the side in question. "Hm?"

In response Jonathan sealed his lips in a maniacal smile and his eyes tapered to near shut. His sharp cheeks plumped up on the sides of his thin face from the force of the expression, reminiscent of the Grinch when getting his awful idea.

Jervis sighed at the non-response. "I suppose I should get to making us breakfast."

Without warning Jonathan snatched his upper arm and with a violent yank he was brought back onto the mattress.

"_No_," Jonathan said, his voice altered.

Jervis fell silent, clinched in a strong hold by the creature with the extreme grin transforming into a frown. "Are you not hungry?" Jervis breathed. "I'm famished, you know…"

"Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any-" The creature's eyes bugged out as Jervis griped his jaw and kissed him, prying a writhing, little tongue inside his mouth. He wrenched the blond man away by the hair. "Yes Sir, yes Sir, three bags full!" He said, sending flecks of spittle to hit Jervis's cringing face.

Jervis wiped it away with a cool expression. "So we wish to speak in rhyme now, do we? Very well."

"One for the master-" The creature started.

"And one for the dame."

The creature's head jerked back, bewildered, as if what was said was something improper. Truth be told, Jervis had no practice in dealing with this side of his companion, so he wasn't sure how to interact with the creature, but decided to just go with it.

"How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail? And pour the waters of the Nile on every golden scale. How cheerfully he seems to grin, how neatly spreads his claws." Jervis snaked his fingers through the creature's, lacing them together. "And welcomes little fishes in, with gently smiling jaws…" He touched the man's face and realized he shouldn't have.

The creature reared back and walloped him, sending him tumbling to the edge of the mattress with a loud cry. He had no time to recover as his hair was seized once more.

"Yew hoongry?" The creature asked.

Jervis blinked and nodded in absolute lust for the nameless man towering over him.

"Ete."

Jervis obeyed, clinging to the man's thighs as his head bobbed. Ten minutes and Jonathan's body hit its peak, and the creature in control let out a groan as he spilled himself into Jervis's mouth.

Jervis sat back onto the mattress and wiped his chin. "That was good." He waited for a response but was offered nothing from his Scarecrow… or was it his Jonathan now? He couldn't tell, the man was so quiet and still, save for the sporadic movement of his twitching fingers. Jervis thought the peculiar stillness might have been the effects of a great orgasm, and that perhaps the man's body was still reaping the results. After a moment he gathered the courage to speak. "Scarecrow?"

The creature's arm lashed out, about to strike, when suddenly his body stiffened and fell backwards in a heap, joints and muscles locking. Jervis was alarmed at the sight and froze, watching the unusual display with fearful curiosity. What the hell was going on?

"Hark! Hark! The dogs do bark- the house that, the house that jack- the rat killed the rat!" The creature's back arched and he withered as if possessed.

Jervis watched in awe, assuring himself of what he was witnessing; two dissimilar voices streaming a line of nonsense out of Jonathan's mouth, overlapping as if in a fight. Jervis began to suspect the two actually were fighting.

Jervis feared interrupting the two but didn't know what else to do, so he put his hands on his hips and said, "Now look see, Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee, you both stop that _now_!"

Jonathan's face instantly ceased its twitching and he glared, as if both individuals inside his body had united as one to turn against the blonde man, infuriated by the sudden interruption. Jervis found himself forcing down a small gulp, sitting cross legged on the mattress and trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. The nonsensical rhyming had stopped and Jonathan's joints had loosened, so much that he was able to sit up and eye Jervis face to face. "Don't tell me what to _do_." he threatened.

Jervis felt a wave of relief at seeing the sullen man change; it was definitely not the frightening entity that had smacked him earlier- though in the pit of his stomach he enjoyed it. He found himself exhaling a long, liberating breath, and perched up on his knees, saying, "My word, Jonathan… you had me worried for a moment… Are you alright, dear? You gave me quite a fright!"

"That's the point. Isn't it?"

"I suppose…"

"Are you going to make me something to eat, or what?"

"Of course! We must get started! We have much to do; we have to get ready for our caper tonight." Jervis puttered off, absent in thought.

"I know that." Jonathan said, secretly put on edge.

* * *

They stood apart at either ends of the room. Jonathan slipped on his black-knit shirt then slid the long wooden rod that attached to his shoulders through the seams. From this he was able to drape the tattered fabric of his shirt over his shoulders, thus giving him the added appearance of a suspended scarecrow. He yanked out a nearby chair and sat down to shove his knee-high boots on his feet. Glaring at Jervis out of the corner of his eye, he watched the man straighten the rather ridiculous polka-dotted bowtie and buttoning up his inner vest, it fitting snug around his waist. Jonathan tried to put himself at ease, but the frustration was too much.

This thing between himself and Jervis was getting too serious. He didn't know what to do… He didn't want to be alone, but he knew these feelings were foreign, which made them unacceptable, and that was well enough reason to ditch the blonde. It was one thing to have sex… it was quite another to fall in… he couldn't finish the thought.

So be it; in the dark of the night, after the deed was done and the money collected, and once he didn't need the blonde's talents any longer, he'd kick that irritating little shit off the roof and take his share. Jonathan sighed at the thought.

At that moment Jervis looked his way. "Ready, my dear?"

Jonathan didn't answer at first, pulling up his elbow-length gloves and flexing his fingers through the opened holes. "_Ready_." He said. He neared the table where his burlap mask rested, the sewn up face a dark symbol of his conviction towards corruption. He picked it up, near timid, preparing to let forth the monster, when-

**SLAM**!

"Police, open this door now!"

Both convicts whirled around at the giant thud that came echoing across the bottom of the building, the sound of metal and wood slamming up against each other accentuating the distress. Jonathan panicked and tore his eyes away from the employee's only door to scowl at Jervis. Jervis looked taken aback, frightened even, and he met Jonathan's gaze, shaking his head open-mouthed. Jonathan turned away and bounded towards their door, yanking it open to step out with Jervis not far behind. There were sirens wailing all around the building and the two metal doors in front shook with the force of being repeatedly smashed. A police squadron could be heard outside; they scurried like fire ants, and the Chief of Department could be heard shouting into a noisy loudspeaker, advising the two criminals to voluntarily open the doors and come out with their hands up.

"_Shit_!" Jonathan said.

"Oh my god, how did they find us?" Jervis tugged on Jonathan's tattered shirt.

"Well if somebody didn't go blabbing where we were, for _fuck's_ sake!" Though he was angry, Jonathan was already hunting for a plan, an idea, a way out.

"I swear to you, I didn't tell! Not even the Penguin!"

Jonathan disregarded the statement and grabbed Jervis's hand, yanking him along down the spiral staircase to face the metal doors.

"_Shit_!" Jonathan said again.

The metal doors thumped. There was only one other exit, but it was at the other end of the building and Jonathan had no doubt it was already covered.

"Jonathan!" Jervis said. "Jonathan, we have to get away! I won't go back to Arkham!"

Jonathan swerved left and right, trying to think of something, anything. Another loud thump came, this time breaching a small gap.

"_Jonathan_!" Jervis clasped his companion's shirt with both hands, his head darting back and forth. Jonathan was at a loss and looked down at Jervis, realizing that was it, they were caught.

_SLAM_!

The metal doors flew open and in coursed a swat team, two dozen cops, and four Arkham Asylum white-coats like a pumping severed vein. They hurried, positioning themselves, guns ready, aiming, and targeting the two villains without a moment's hesitation. At that same moment Jonathan's fight or flight mechanism kicked in, and like the bird he so was he chose flight. Ripping Jervis's hand from his own, he shoved the man so hard he tripped and fell over at the foot of one very tall and large police officer.

"JONATHAN!" Jervis said and twisted his head to watch as his supposed companion made a wild dash towards the other exit.

A chorus rang high: grab him, secure the area, watch it- watch his teeth, and get his legs, could be heard from various officers- along with Jervis's high pitched screams of protest- as Jonathan darted forward, long legs propelling him three times faster than any average donut-eating pig. He made it more than half way to the exit, heart racing, hopeful that he might make a very narrow escape, when out popped a bulky officer who had slipped in through the opposite exit, swinging a black baton straight into his gut.

He dropped like a fly, heaving for breath. As he lay huffing on the concrete floor he could hear frantic shrieks all around, but couldn't register from whom. The hulking officer slammed a knee into his back, pinning him down and grabbing his flailing arms to cuff them. Jonathan was then lifted off the floor, jerked back, and then pushed into the nearby wall with a massive hand bracing the side of his head. He could feel the cold surface of the bricks on his cheek as he struggled, but the man was huge, out-weighing him by 100 pounds at least.

"Ah, get off me!" a familiar voice said.

Who was that?

"You'll not keep the Mad Hatter caged, you vicious Jabberwocky!" the voice cried.

Oh yeah. Jonathan winced as he turned against the brick, arching to see the chaotic scene taking place across from him.

Jervis kicked and screamed as the officers tried to hold him down, having a tough time maintaining their grip as he squirmed. One cop took his leg while the other looped around his shoulders, hugging him like a vice from behind. Jervis kicked and hit the first cop in the face, sending the man reeling back for a few seconds before lunging forward. Together they held Jervis strong while he screamed, and more officers rushed to help, along with a female white-coat who stabbed a hypodermic needle into a small vial filled with clear liquid.

"Doctor Leland! We- we've got 'em-"

"Hold him still or I won't be able to administer the sedative!"

"_NO_!"

One by one the officers pinned Jervis face-down on the floor. They twisted his arms behind his back and secured his legs. An officer tore Jervis's costume over his shoulder by Doctor Leland's command and she readied the syringe with two quick taps. Jervis screamed as she punctured the skin of his shoulder, but he couldn't move as the four cops held him down. They didn't have to wait long before Jervis's tear-stained eyes fluttered, his muscles losing their resistance as the tranquilizer did its job. Doctor Leland's calm voice shushed him softly.

Jonathan was suddenly infuriated by the scene. Unfortunately for the police officer behind him he had one remaining ace up his sleeve. He ground his molars together until hearing a loud pop then felt a throbbing sensation as his tooth exploded, and a noxious stream of fear gas came tumbling from his mouth. Using all the strength he could gather, he bent back and blew the fumes like a dragon breathing fire. The man looked surprised but then, as the gas seeped into his lungs, his face contorted into a hideous expression of terror.

"Help! Help me! I can't breathe!" He clutched at his throat, freeing Jonathan in the process.

Jonathan- still cuffed- made a run for it while the other officers stared dumbfounded at their comrade and the gangly man fleeing for the window.

"Don't breath in the gas!" Doctor Leland said. "Get him!"

Sprinting like a wild animal, Jonathan screech to a halt at the boarded window and thought he might be able to slip in between the separate planks of wood, but jerked backwards as a gunshot whizzed past, ricocheting off the wall.

"Don't shoot him!" Doctor Leland said.

"I'm taking him down!" Chief of Police, Commissioner Gordon replied. "He's attacked one of my men! That warrants our defense! Take him down, boys!"

Fear stuck to Jonathan's face as he heard the Commissioner order his men to attack. He spun quick to the left and bounced off something hard. He shook his head, disorientated, then recoiled as a brutal punch cracked him in the eye. That was all it took. He was down.

"I've got him," the Batman said. The other officers relaxed their aim.

"Oh, thank god… know… thought… him…"

Commissioner Gordon words trailed off and all speech sounded distant as Jonathan fought for consciousness, but as the Bat tore his shirt and pressed a tranquilizer gun to his shoulder, he couldn't fight any longer. He drifted away, and all he could hear were the nauseating echoes of Jervis's voice screaming his name.


	10. Welcome Back

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Welcome Back  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 2,903  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Doctor Joan Leland, Edward Nigma  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan is welcomed back to Arkham. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Welcome Back  
**

The grass outside was lush as the wind blew through it, stirring it as if each strand were dancing amid the other. The tulips looked fresh and the land around the edifice was wide and open, like a vast plain of fields that claimed the country side. In truth, the location was not rural; it wasn't even close, save for the small amount of foliage surrounding the building. Sure it seemed nice enough on the outside, well kempt, clean, with tall securing fences and barbed wire, but the sign chiseled in bold letters still read:

**ARKHAM ASYLUM  
HOME OF THE CRIMINALLY INSANE  
**

Inside those walls were the Arkham inmates, sentenced for various reasons including theft and homicide, not to mention most were completely crazy. West of the structure lay the woman's ward, housing Harleen Quinzel, aka _Harley Quinn_, Pamela Isley, aka _Poison Ivy, _and Margaret Pye, aka _Magpie_. There were countless others as well, lesser known 'femme fatales' then the leading female rogues, but all were just as dangerous. East of this wing lay the men's ward, impounding _The Joker_, alias unknown, and Harvey Dent, aka _Two-Face_; along with Edward Nigma, _The Riddler_, Waylon Jones, _Killer Croc_, Arnold Wesker, _The Ventriloquist_, and Jonathan Crane, aka _The Scarecrow_, whom happened to be sitting furiously across from his therapist, Dr. Joan Leland. Dr. Leland was a tolerant woman, quite capable of handling the fuming disregard so often expressed from her patients, and also sympathetic in the ways of their troubles, but at that moment she was so frustrated she could have strangled a kitten.

"Listen, I know you're upset right now, Jonathan, but we have to get you back into therapy." She sighed and set down his files. "I need to see you three, maybe four times a week."

She glanced up at her patient, his wrists and ankles bound by heavy chain-linked cuffs. He wore a standard, sky-blue Arkham shirt with a matching pair of pants, and printed on his chest was the name CRANE enclosed in a white label. She stopped watching him for moment to let her words catch. She glanced around the small room, at the oak desk where all her files were held and the dark-green, psychologist's couch for which her patients were advised to sit. The room even had a sizeable bookcase that hugged the left hand wall next to the barred window, filled with psychology books of every nature. The over-head fluorescent light would sometimes bother the other patients, so she often kept her office dim with a standing wall lamp in addition to the halogen one on her desk. Jonathan was looking out the window, watching freedom call from the sway of the emerald-cut grass. She cleared her throat.

"Your psychosis is past concerning, Jonathan. You've remained unreceptive to treatment and refuse to acknowledge there's a problem. You-"

"Where's Jervis?" Jonathan asked.

"Pardon?"

"_Where_ is Jervis Tetch? _Where_ did you place him?" Jonathan was getting a bit peeved.

Dr. Leland raised a brow. "Why so curious?"

"I'm just asking." Jonathan crossed his arms, struggling with the chain and cuffs.

Joan put a hand to the bridge of her nose and started to rub with her thumbs. She didn't want to address the next subject but knew it was somewhat she had to ask. After a brief pause, and long enough to work the pain from her forehead, she laced her fingers together on her desk and stared unflinching at her patient, deciding to confront the issue head on.

"I know you where with Jervis when-"

"What does he have to do with my treatment?"

She leaned back against her chair in retreat. "Never mind. Dr. Bartholomew will… take care of it for now."

Jonathan could see her open his file and scribble something down, her jaw tight with annoyance. He didn't bother to slip a glimpse of what she had just written- he didn't care. Only the bleak thought of Jervis absent from his life consumed his mind. He looked back to the window, wondering if his comrade had seen the luscious grass before they stuffed him into a cold, dark, colorless cell.

"Well," Doctor Leland said. She placed her pen down. "As is procedure, I have to inform you of all the rules here in the asylum, plus the medication we'll be administering to you for the duration of your treatment."

Jonathan tilted his head back, his black eye plumped out around the socket.

"As you know there is no smoking, drinking, or any other such behavior allowed. Violence towards guards, doctors, or other inmates is punishable and always taken seriously. You are allowed one hour of rec. room, one hour on the block, and fifteen minutes for showering. If you have _any_ behavioral problems these privileges can and _will_ be taken away." She licked her lips. "As you also know Arkham is crowded and there's a shortage of cells available, so you'll be bunking with Edward Nigma."

Jonathan let out a loud sigh.

Doctor Leland then tackled the next subject hated by inmates. "I'll also be putting you on some Clozapine and Fluoxetine- plus a small dose of Lorazepam."

"Lorazepam?" Jonathan asked. "What for?"

She gave him a blank look. "For insomnia. It's a sleep aid."

"I _know_ what it is. Don't you think that's a bit excessive?"

"Excessive? Jonathan, if it were up to me and not through the board I would have you so drugged you couldn't stand to take a piss." She stopped, embarrassed. "At least until they kicked in… then I'd lower the dosage."

Jonathan looked livid.

"Alright, to your cell. Edward should be along shortly; he might still be in therapy." She glanced at the clock on her wall. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about now, while we still have a few minutes? Anything enlightening that comes to mind?"

Jonathan glowered in silence.

Doctor Leland sighed. "Alright then. Welcome to Arkham. Enjoy your stay."

* * *

The guards shoved Jonathan into a cramped cell with a bunk bed, a nasty toilet, a rusted old sink, and warned him as they walked off. "Be good, eh, Jon-boy?"

Jonathan looked around then threw his towel and spare set of clothes on the bottom bunk. He and Edward had bunked together before until that fortunate day where good behavior granted Jonathan one of the few single cells. Of course he escaped with Jervis near after, tagging along with the man in the single cell next to his for the hell of it. Little did he know.

Jonathan touched his black eye, it having turned in a huge purple bruise from the Bat. Why the face? Why not the stomach or side? Or Christ, why not knee him in the balls? Those bruises could be hidden, but the face, why the face? He would without a doubt be the subject of new gossip for at least a week.

He stood, not knowing what to do next, longing for a book. _Fucking_ _barbarians_, he thought. He plopped his ass on the bottom bunk and kicked his long legs up to rest atop the metal frame at the foot, then crossed one leg over the other. Lazing with his hands behind his head, he sunk into the small pillow while he waited, observing the hatchings in the gray wall.

He traced the graffiti with a fingers and his mind wandered to Jervis. He felt bad for what he had done. His heart had sunk at witnessing the sad scene of Jervis's arrest, those blue eyes rolling back to stay open while the police held him down, and he helpless to do anything, though it had been him to sacrifice the man in the first place. He felt guilty.

What he wouldn't give for just a _body_, someone to touch. When would he see Jervis next? The rec. room? The dining hall? God, he'd do anything to see that blonde head of hair at that moment. Anything.

_Wait_, he thought, _what the hell?_ The very thought was fucking ridiculous. Why was he feeling so at a loss? _Fuck_ Jervis Tetch. He did not need that stupid queer. He was not going to feel so bad, so lost, so sentimental about it. _Fuck_ that.

He cracked a demented smile and tried to busy his mind with other, more important notions, like an idea to get him out of his current predicament. Damn it. He hated the Asylum. It was insulting to send him to a place for sheer crazies. He didn't belong and he loathed it. Jervis on the other hand, now there was a man who needed therapy. And drugs. Lots of drugs. Man was definitely a lunatic… yep. And Jesus, he knew how to fuck too.

Jonathan cringed at the sudden intrusion by his mind to his own thoughts. What could he do? He couldn't help it. Jervis was crazy, there was no doubt, but he was also passionate and thoughtful, kind and considerate, perceptive yet naive, and above all, absolutely skilled in the ways of sex. Where Jervis was experienced Jonathan was not, and it had felt amazing to be freed of his restraint when they were engaged in the act. Jervis knew how to twist, where to flick his tongue, when to grind, and together they created a beautiful rhythmic beat that was akin to music. Their climax was like a crescendo, loudening and swelling to that pinnacle point at which the thrill of it all burned hot then ebbed as they lay spent.

Jonathan closed his eyes and accepted the fact that he had an erection. There was nothing he could do; Nigma would be back from therapy any minute and he would be damned to let someone find him beating off. The laughter would never end. But maybe he had time. As he weighed his options a guard's polished boots clomped along near his cell and he craned his head to look out as the man walked by.

"Hey!" he called.

The guard stopped. His nametag read Mark.

"Whut?" Mark stepped a few paces backwards to view Jonathan.

Jonathan had hidden himself by curling his outstretched legs into his chest. He gave the man a fake smile. "You know when Nigma's gonna' be back?"

"Keep ya' pants on, Crane." Mark said. "I know ya' wanna' do ya' nails with ya' girlfriend, but he's got ten minutes left. So shut the fuck up before I come in there and break ya' face."

Jonathan looked away and waited for Mark to leave. Ten minutes. There was never a time- and never under any circumstance- in which he couldn't coax himself to climax. He thought of Jervis in the morning, pouring boiling water into a mug without any pants. He thought about tea and sex and how they meshed so well, like a yin-yang- black and white.

It was obvious they were these elements, set together like a complicated puzzle on a chess board, and as he realized the fact his strokes turned vigorous. As he came he held the towel over the head of his cock for easy maintenance. After he was done he sighed and he threw the towel to the floor. Curling up, he tucked himself under the band of his pants and shut his eyes, tired and spent. While he rested atop the mattress, feeling the afterglow, two guards halted in front of his cell and opened the barred door. They pushed someone inside and slammed it shut.

Edward Nigma gave them a heated look. "Thank you for the help, friends."

The guards shared a smirk. "Ok, Nigma. We'll leave you and your new roomy alone, just remember to use protection, ok?" They laughed.

"I am _not_ a homosexual. Though feel free to go on believing that, as I know you will."

"Sure, sure. We'll do just that Eddie." They both chuckled to one another.

"Alright, see if your pathetic brains can wrap around this one. What goes in dry, comes out wet, and gives warm satisfaction?"

Jonathan looked at Edward then glanced at the two guards. Edward wore a sly smile that stretched across his handsome face, daring the two to answer.

"Uh…" One started. "Jon-boy's dick up your ass?" Both erupted in laughter and dawdled off while Edward turned to meet eyes with Jonathan.

"A teabag." Jonathan said.

Edward stared at him. "What?"

"A teabag. That's the answer. A… teabag."

Edward gave him a disbelieving look.

Jonathan gulped. "I've just been drinking a lot of… tea."

Edward sustained his questioning gaze for a moment longer before letting a slow smile creep across his handsome face. He peered down at Jonathan, shaking his head. "Well, well, well… Jonathan Crane. My, my; what a thrill it is to be in the presence of such an enigmatic and frightening mind." He held out his hand and Jonathan took it, grasping it and shaking once.

"Riddler." Jonathan replied.

"Naturally. So what imbeciles do they hire here anyway, huh? Dr. Arkham must be getting desperate." Edward motioned a thumb over his shoulder.

Jonathan shrugged.

"Seriously… _fools_. So, back in town, I see?"

"You could say that."

"The Bat catch you?"

"Actually… yeah." Jonathan said. It was too embarrassing to admit it was the babbling homeless man that had informed the police and not the Bat, receiving not only the gratitude of the GCPD but also a substantial reward for his heroism.

"Anyway… welcome back." Edward said with that sly and attractive smile.

"Shut up, Nigma."

"Oh come on, Jon. Didn't you miss your old pal? You can be such an ass, you know."

Edward peered off in thought before turning his gaze back again, smirking as he climbed up to his bunk. "So… I heard you got a new _accomplice_?"

"Where did you hear that?" Jonathan asked. His heart began to pound.

Nigma popped his head over the side of the bunk, appearing innocent, "Oh, well, you know how rumors travel fast in here. I mean… you were both on GCN." He tucked his chin over his crossed arms. "It's not like that stuff stays private, though they didn't explain much. So… is he?

"Is he what?"

"Your new _accomplice_. Are you two working together or something? The news didn't really say, just that you where both found in some abandoned factory… Well?"

Jonathan was on the verge of passing out but responded with a slight shrug. "No… he's not."

Edward gave a slow nod.

"Well, yes and no." Jonathan added. "I mean we were planning a job… but that was before we were arrested. Those damn cops came outa' know where, ya know?"

"Funny… must have been one hell of a job to plan it for, what was it? Two months?"

"Oh it was, trust me. It was hard at first, ya know? That little bastard wouldn't leave me alone, and I was trying to do something by myself but he wouldn't fucking go away, ya know? So… I just decided to… uh… use 'em. I mean, why not? The job called for his talents so… after that was established I just went along with what we had going. I was gonna ditch him after we got the cash, but we didn't have time before the cops came crashing down our door." Jonathan jutted out his jaw and leaned back with his arms crossed.

Eddie looked pleased. "That explains a lot. But how did you even last that long with that guy? God, he is so weird. He's a joke. When was the last time he actually did anything menacing? Oooh, Alice in Wonderland, the Cheshire cat, don't eat the mushrooms! Please, I'm shaking in my spandex." He ended with a classic Riddler laugh, high pitched and snobbish in tone.

"I know, right?" Jonathan forced a snigger along with him, fighting the feeling of guilt.

"Well, Jon-boy, if you were gonna' rob a bank you should have at least sprung me out. We'd make a great team, you know."

Jonathan rolled his eyes and smacked his own forehead. They both chuckled and Jonathan was glad the ice had broken between him and his former roommate; it was starting to get uncomfortable. Edward was suspicious already, and the GCN broadcast hadn't helped, but Jonathan couldn't explain why. Edward was acting too resentful, like he was… jealous? It seemed ridiculous.

"I'm glad you're back, Crane." Edward said. "They had me holed up with some white-collar idiot who finally figured out why jail time was better than this place. He couldn't answer a riddle if his _life_ depended on it."

"Yeah? What happened to him? They place him with someone else?"

"No. Joker shoved a fork through his eye while telling him a knock, knock joke. It was actually pretty funny. After that he requested an appeal and got it. They transferred him to Black Gate."

"Lucky bastard."

"Yeah, but now I have someone who can answer my riddles." Edward smiled and rolled out of sight on the bunk above. "Someone who can appreciate my genius."

Jonathan paused, replaying Edward's last remark over in his head. Was Edward Nigma… flirting with him? No, the thought was preposterous, so he brushed it off and reclined on his mattress with a sigh.

"Hey… Jonathan." Edward said.

"What?" Jonathan replied.

"What can travel around the world while staying in a corner?" Giggling came from the bunk.

Jonathan sighed. It was going to be a long night.


	11. In Marble Walls

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: In Marble Walls  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,195  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Doctor Joan Leland, Edward Nigma, Joker, Daedalus Boch, Bane, Waylon Jones, Tucker Long, Officer Aaron Cash  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: Heavy R  
Summary: Jonathan can't stand to see Jervis ignore him. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes,  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**In Marble Walls**

"I don't want to talk anymore."

Jonathan crossed his arms, unwilling to answer his therapist's initial question. Doctor Leland sat at her desk frustrated by Jonathan's refusal and growing impatient by his stubbornness. She wore a standard navy-blue business suit, jacket and blouse accentuating the feminine curves of her figure, along with a knee length skirt that tapered to her legs. She was not, by any means, a fortunate woman, but she liked to think she came from good stock and felt it important to look presentable, even if it was only for her lunatic patients. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves, tucking her curly jet-black hair behind her ear.

"I know this subject is a little hasty, Jonathan, but we've been doing this for how long now? You need to open up. Start to trust. You can always put your confidence in me, I can assure you. I realize these issues are difficult to talk about… but if you just give therapy a chance I'm sure you'll be surprised at the outcome. We can make a change and come up with a solution together. You don't have to be alone, Jonathan."

"I'm not alone." Jonathan replied. "In case you've forgotten my diagnosis dictates that I'm 'moderately schizophrenic'. I'm _never_ alone."

"I know. And yes, you are schizophrenic… and you have multiply personality disorder. But that aside, what bothers me Jonathan is that you know about these illnesses. You acknowledge their presence and yet you still refuse to help yourself."

"I never said I acknowledged that. I have nothing to say."

Doctor Leland stared at him for a few moments before reaching for her pen, jotting down a note in his file while he looked on with a sneer. He was angered by her actions; all she did was write whatever he said down and later try to use it to trap him into his own statements, as if he were some idiot. Each felt-tipped stroke of grated on his nerves and he wanted to scream, but there was nothing he could do.

"Ok," Joan said. "We'll get off the subject."

"Don't insult my _intelligence_." Jonathan hissed back.

Doctor Leland rubbed the side of her face and sighed. "Alright. Let's just keep to one topic, ok?" She glanced down at his file. "I see your medications seem to be doing fine. Are you getting enough sleep?"

Jonathan glared in response.

"Ok, let's see what else we can talk about." She chose her next words carefully. "Why don't we talk about, Jervis?"

Jonathan's eyes shot to attention and he faltered, taken aback by the suddenness of her question, but he recovered fast and scowled. "What about him?"

"Well… you seem to have a certain… _fondness_ towards him."

Jonathan didn't reply. Doctor Leland gave him an optimistic smile and hoped for him to say something.

"Doctor, I want to ask you a question," Jonathan started, his fingers making a steeple beneath his chin.

"Well, this isn't about me it's about you." Doctor Leland reached for the glass of water resting on her desk.

"I know, but let me ask you just one thing."

"Alright. What?"

"How much does it frighten you being a single woman living alone? Not to mention being a minority. Tell me. I want to hear your condition."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Jonathan's voice was like ice. "How does it feel to be a single, middle-aged black woman with a dead end job and no kids? Don't lie… I can smell fear."

Doctor Leland stared at him, her lips a taught line, refusing to answer. She need remember this man was part monster.

Jonathan went on, his tongue slinking in his mouth. "Do you go home at night alone? Wake up alone? You do, don't you. I can tell. Your lonesomeness exudes. Does it feel like a chilling undertow, like you can't swim back no matter how hard you try? The shore keeps drifting away, undulating, until the vast sea of your lonesome self surrounds you. The sea could be no one, or everyone, yet it's still the same… you're drowning in it. Aren't you?"

"Stop." Doctor Leland said sternly.

"Oh, that's the fear isn't it?" Jonathan continued. "There it is, I can taste it now. You know, that loneliness will never go away, Joan. It's like a cancer, and it's growing inside your deadened womb."

"That's enough!" Joan yelled. She slammed the candy-red button attached to her desk and the buzzer called for the orderlies waiting in the hall.

"Joan, don't fret. Even if your womanly parts could accept a child the problem still would be a lack of man. When was the last time, dear?"

"Quiet!"

Jonathan grinned deviously, making the Doctor before him flinch as if to cover her eyes. That was when the guards swung open the door and stomped in, only to be met with a shaken therapist before her patient, the latter of which sat upright on her dark-green couch as if at a dinner party.

"Take him." Joan said through ground teeth.

The guards trampled towards Jonathan and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him out into the hallway. His smirk never waned. Her expression was priceless.

* * *

"Move along!"

It was lunch time in the Mess hall and the clang buzzed while the inmates dug into their meals. The room was large in size, bigger than the rec room but not as comfortable by far. Long, roll-out cafeteria tables lined the center, dividing the hall into two rows where the inmates sat, droning on hatefully about therapy, the bat, or anything else that crossed their crazed minds. The rigid sentinel stood equipped with batons, eyeing the inmates and ready for a potential blow. After all, the Mess hall was the first and foremost place where fights commenced.

Jonathan sat on the second to last stool at his normal table, hunched over his lunch tray while assessing his therapy session that morning. That little stunt had cost him his rec. room privileges for a week.

On the plate in front of him laid some kind of meatloaf and vegetables congealed in a nasty collage, smelling and seeming quite fowl. Perhaps the food had past its expiration date, but who could tell? The food was always poor at Arkham, and unfortunately for Jonathan his weight was exceptionally low, so skipping out on meals was not an option. He grimaced as he churned his fork through the muddled jam that was supposed to be his lunch, and set his utensil down in defeat as Eddie took the available seat next to him, banging his elbows onto the table with a thud. Jonathan jumped at the noise and looked at Edward, giving the man an irritated glare.

"What's the matter, Jon-boy? Don't like your meal?" Eddie asked.

"Does anyone?" Jonathan replied with a short chuckle, reaching for the banana resting on Edward's plate.

"Yeah, you can just have that, not like I need to eat."

"Thanks."

"Ok, I got one," Eddie said and smirked, "you up for it, Jon-boy? In marble walls as white as milk, lined with skin as soft as silk, within a fountain crystal clear, a golden apple doth appear. No doors there are to this stronghold- yet thieves break in and steal the gold. What am I?"

"Hm," Jonathan made a show of thinking, but he already knew the answer. "Easy, you're an egg."

"Right!" Edward said. "Ok, here's another one…"

The Mess hall became louder as more of the inmates settled into their set sub-groups, splitting up into their own clicks amongst themselves like teenagers. The lesser known criminals, or common criminals, sat together at the last table on the edge of the first row, while the more violent ones huddled mutually at the table diagonal. The female inmates also had their meals in the same dining area, so Harley and Ivy were always seated with each other, never having a particular location but always managing to mingle in with whatever group they preferred, oftentimes accompanied by Magpie or Jane Doe plus a few other female rogues.

The more 'down to earth' rogues, such as Edward Nigma, Daedalus Boch, Warren White, and Jonathan Crane sat towards the center row on the right hand side. They weren't the most feared of the rogues, but in spite of that they were still respected for their intelligence and passion based crimes. On the left hand side across from them sat the toughest of the rogue's gallery, such as the Joker, Waylon Jones, Harvey Dent, and Bane; a chilling lot to reckon with.

All that were left were the loser rogues, which were seated at a specific table on the far end of the room, the last table opposite from the common criminals of lesser renown. The loser rogues were never taken seriously, usually consisting of Arnold Wesker, Garfield Lynns, Julian Day, Humphrey Dumpler, and of course Jervis Tetch. The mess hall was segmented into categories, stacked like a primal food chain, and the joke villains rested on the very bottom.

Jonathan peeled away the skin of Eddie's banana and took a bite, concentrating on the man's next riddle and happy to have at least a somewhat fresh piece of fruit to satisfy his hunger pangs. He chewed and angled his neck to look behind himself, watching the line of inmates as they went through the motion of taking a tray, holding it out for the cafeteria workers, then, if they were permitted, taking their given set of utensils and sitting down. Jonathan observed as Tucker Long waltzed out of the line, inedible slop spewed upon his try haphazardly. The man took his seat and started to eat the awful meal with his bare hands. Jonathan cringed at the sight and turned back towards the line.

"What are you looking for, Jon?" Edward asked, stopping mid riddle.

Jonathan turned his gaze back to Edward, noticing the foreign look in the man's emerald eyes. "Uh, nothing," he stated, eyes shifting from Edward to the line, "I'm just checking out the old gang."

Edward nodded, supposedly convinced, and pushed his tray aside, sticking out his tongue like a child at the meal. "This is shit," he said.

Jonathan would have answered, but just as he summoned the words he noticed the Joker saunter from the end of the line with a full tray, gesturing at a guard for a utensil, a _fork_, to eat his meal with. The guard looked at the chalk white man in confusion and shook his head, frowning. The Joker let out a boisterous laugh and the room went suddenly silent. "I'm just _kidding_ with you, Tommy!" he said and cackled while hitting the guard's back with a slap.

The guard threw up a hand in defense and snapped his fingers, jabbing towards the tables. Joker nodded and walked down the aisle, winking at Harley while he strolled to his entitled seat. Harley sighed lovingly, and rested her pig-tailed head in her hands, blinking in the Joker's direction while Ivy made a gagging gesture behind her. Joker dropped his tray on the table's cheap wooden surface and the room livened again with the chatter of gossip, as if the sound from the tray had granted their permission to continue as if nothing had happened.

Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief and finished his banana, thankful the Joker didn't notice him. It was customary to 'greet' inmates, whether they were old or new. Of course, the one and only Joker carried this task out, but so far Jonathan hadn't encountered any problems.

"Sup' with you, Crane?" Daedalus asked. "You look all riled."

"N-nothing," Jonathan said. "Nothing's wrong."

"Don't tell me you a scardy cat now," Daedalus said with a grin.

"He said he's fine, Doodle," Edward said. "Leave the man alone, he just got back."

"Oh shit son, where ma' manners at?" Daedalus replied.

Eddie gave a raised brow to the artist while Jonathan glanced over his shoulder in search, quick to scan the line. Didn't see him. Oh well… it was probably best. Besides, it wasn't good to look for-

_Jervis_.

Jonathan watched as his former companion carried a lunch tray from the line's end towards the massive guard, holding the tray up gingerly for a plastic fork which the guard permitted. The small man then turned to face the Mess hall, and being one of the last few to attain his meal, everyone was already seated, yapping away with their mouths opened, filled with food. Jervis tucked his head and started walking the isle.

Jonathan tore his sight away to stare ahead, the desire to reach out and brush against Jervis welling up within, but the worry of what that action might cause holding him back. It'd been days, far too long since their night-long engagements, but Jonathan held firm; any kind of contact would result in ridicule from the other inmates.

As Jervis neared, Jonathan suddenly busied himself. Jervis came into view and stopped at their table, and all but Jonathan ceased their chewing, slowly turning their heads to stare, their faces blank and cryptic. Jonathan raised his hand to block out the small figure from his view and gulping hard, trying to ignore the slightly posh, British accent that spoke out tentatively.

A pause. "May I sit with you, Jonathan?"

The focus then turned to Jonathan, and six pairs of curious eyes stared at him in question as he attempted to obstruct the blonde man from his view. He acted as if he hadn't seen Jervis, moving his hand away and making a surprised and pretentious expression.

"Uh… what?"

"Uh _what _is right," Eddie said. He gave Jervis a disgusted look. "Your table is over _there_." He waved his hand to where Wesker sat toying with an orange puppet.

Jervis overlooked the remark and stayed put.

"Hey," Edward said again, waving a hand in front of Jervis's face. "That's your indication to _go_."

Jervis kept his sight on Jonathan, but his resolve was weakening. "Jonathan?"

"Jonathan's busy eating," Edward answered with a catty tilt of his head.

"Take your seat, Tetch!" yelled a guard from where he leaned. "Don't make me come over there!"

Even at the threat Jervis remained still, and Jonathan made the mistake of glancing up. The blonde man smiled at him, looking now optimistic. Jonathan glared. Jervis looked stunned, then gradually became subdued, his eyes appearing wet as if he was about to cry. Jonathan bit his inner lip at the sight.

"Oh oh, I got one," Edward said excitedly. "Who wears a hat, is blonde, and is dumb as fuck?"

The entire table burst into laughter, hooting in sharp shrieks of hilarity as Jervis stood disgraced, his sad eyes remaining locked on Jonathan's. Amidst the cruelty, Edward slipped a hand around Jonathan's thigh, caressing it with a tight squeeze so Jervis could see. Jonathan looked dumbfounded at Edward while Jervis gripped the tray in his hands, his knuckles turning white as they clenched the plastic.

In one fluid motion, Jervis smashed the tray across Edwards grinning face, and Edward reared back, holding his hands to his bleeding nose in shock. The hall went quiet.

"_Fight_!" Daedalus screamed. He lifted his tray and threw it across the room, hitting Bane square in the face.

Madness then ensued as the inmates broke into a wild frenzy, throwing trays at each other and flinging food about the room like crazed monkeys. Waylon Jones took a nearby inmate and hurled him at another, sending them both tumbling to the floor in a heap, while the Joker swiped a fork resting on the table behind him and stabbed a neighboring guard in merriment. The fork pierced the flesh of the man's exposed arm and he cried out in pain. Jonathan ducked as Warren White spun past, twirling his tray around like a cyclone and hitting everyone in his path upside the skull.

Jonathan stooped under his table, watching in awe as the skirmish raged between the sane and crazed. Peering from his hiding spot, he could see a furious Edward flogging a defenseless Jervis. Jervis struck Edward across the jaw then scrambled to his feet, escaping momentarily, but as he dashed away he slipped on the slick floor, falling to the hard linoleum tile with a thud. Edward was on him within seconds, yanking the man's hair and slamming his face into the ground in rage.

Fury surged through Jonathan as he witnessed his companion's beating, and instinct urged him to protect, but just as he was about to spring into action the guards clout Edward over the head, rendering the man unconscious. Edward collapsed on top of Jervis, and the blonde man was rendered to the floor.

As more guards rushed through the entranceway, swinging their batons about and slamming inmates, Officer Aaron Cash screamed into his two-way radio. "Emergency nap time! Call an emergency nap time! I want these fuckers down and out now!"

And so it was done. The entire Mess hall was gassed within two minutes, and Jonathan crumpled forward to the floor.

* * *

Jonathan came too and found himself back in his cell, lying stiff atop his mattress. Downtrodden and woozy, he swung his long legs over the edge and stood with a wobble. He glanced at Edward's bunk but found the space vacant. Edward hadn't been brought back to their cell, perhaps being brought to the infirmary for the injuries sustained during the fight.

Jonathan sighed and felt the horrible onslaught of loneliness ache through his heart. He wanted to see, wanted to speak, wanted to… touch and be touched. God, it was definite. He was beyond all hope. He gripped the rusted bars that secluded him to his dungeon and pounded on the marble walls, realizing he had to escape.

* * *

"I have a proposition for you," a deep voice said. "It concerns the _early release_ of a few inmates."

"It's gonna' be tricky," a lighter voice answered back. "Somethin' like that'll cost ya. If anyone in the force finds out I helped ya' in any way, you know what'll happen ta' me? I could lose my badge, I could lose my family, I could even go ta _jail_ fa' Christ sake."

"I understand the risks involved for a man in your position. But believe me, I'll make it worth your while."

"Yeah… yeah, yeah, I know… I know you got _half_ of Gotham in ya' back pocket-"

"I am the most powerful man in Gotham, make no mistake. You will be paid in full for your services, all I need are two."

A sudden light illuminated the shadows between the two men. The crackle from an imported cigarette could be heard.

"Ok. Two. You want someone specific or-"

"I need two who can handle the job. Just _two. _I don't care who they are, just make sure they take orders and can handle the job without a mess. Have them at Gotham Central Park. They'll be given further instructions at that location."

Thick, ringed finger's laced upon a giant desk with poise.

"Sure. S-sure thing… Mr. Falcone."


	12. Riddle Me This

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Riddle Me This  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,793  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Edward Nigma, Arnold Wesker, Doctor Joan Leland,  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch, Edward Nigma/Jonathan Crane  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan handles a sticky situation. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Riddle Me This**

It hadn't been an easy task persuading Jonathan to address some of his issues in therapy, but eventually he began to share selected thoughts with Doctor Leland. The emotions that came were unquestionably allowed or vetoed through his approval, but he shared some nonetheless, and for that Joan was grateful. She was impressed- he could tell. But he knew she had hopes of seeing him in full recovery and that he could not promise, not even to himself. Still, he liked to think his attempts quite generous considering the short amount of time he'd been back. He sat on the dark-green couch, watching as she wrote down a small reminder to herself in his file.

She looked up to meet his distant eyes and smiled. "How do you feel today, Jonathan?" she asked before sipping her coffee.

"Troubled," Jonathan replied. He began to run his hands through his hair.

"Alright, let's focus in on that," she said calmly, but with some slight apprehension. Jonathan would have smiled if he had felt more up to it; he'd scared her good.

Instead he stared out the window, eyes and face blank, and said, "I don't know what's wrong with me."

She put her hand to her mouth, as if she were trying to figure it out herself. She rubbed her jaw then moved her hand down to play with her pen. There was hesitance there, and Jonathan suspected her about to push his personal boundaries.

"Jonathan, do you know who started the mess hall fight a few weeks ago? Was it you?"

Goddamnit, he wasn't stupid, and he knew she knew. So why bother asking? "No," he replied.

"That's good. That's very good. And you didn't participate in the fight?

He shook his head.

"I'm proud to hear it," she said with a small smile.

Jonathan said nothing and stared out the window. The leaves had begun to fall; their vibrant colors combining on the ground to make a beautiful palette of warm hues adorning the earth. The deadened trees marked the end of autumn and the beginning of winter. Jonathan blinked then shut his eyes.

"Who started the fight, Jonathan?" Doctor Leland asked.

"Shouldn't you already know this?" Jonathan turned away from the window, his expression angry.

"A… yes. I do know," Joan replied.

"Then cut the crap," Jonathan said. "Don't insult my intelligence."

"You're right… I'm sorry, Jonathan, I meant nothing by it."

Jonathan gave a harsh grunt then jerked his head to look out the window once again, sighing with a fretful look. Joan took another sip of her coffee and started with a different tactic, stumbling for the right words.

"Jonathan, I know how you must be feeling right now… I know the medications have left you tired and-"

"Numb." Jonathan said for her. His eyes were as lifeless as the deadened trees surrounding the asylum.

She nodded. "Yes. I know it's been tough. A lot of patients complain about their meds, but trust me, in a few weeks you'll feel better… you'll get used to them."

"I know," Jonathan replied. "I've been through this before." He placed a hand upon the window sill, transfixed.

"I'm glad you've been more receptive towards treatment."

Jonathan's attention hadn't veered; he remained mesmerized by the scenery beyond the dirtied glass. This was the hard part, getting past the debilitating symptoms of the medication, and he knew if he could just get though another week he'd feel more cognitive and less fatigued.

"Jonathan," Doctor Leland said after clearing her throat. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you, though it's hard forming the question in my mind. But I need to know. I need to know about you and Jervis."

_Finally got it out in the open. _"What do you mean?" he asked. _I promise, I don't know what we are anymore then you do, Joan._

"Well, you know. What are your feelings towards him?" Doctor Leland had bit her lip, scratched her face, distractions at best. "I mean, you're both friends?"

"Yes," Jonathan replied with a frown. "Yes, you could say that."

"Great. Well, that's good. There you go."

Jonathan gave her a raised brow, waiting. When was she just going to come out with it? Hadn't he suffered enough of this ridiculous and pointless line of questioning? Ugh, thank God the hour was almost over, he didn't know how much longer he could stand the unbearable silence or how much more he could take staring out the window at his stolen freedom. Joan was sweet and pretty, what with her perky attitude and all that enthusiasm, but there was only so much he could take.

She swayed in her swivel chair for a moment longer, and then the question came out in a languid sort of drawl. "So, do you have any sexual feelings towards him?"

_There it is_. He blinked and turned to stare at her, crossing his arms. "Do I what?" he hissed. _Now it's my turn to make you feel uncomfortable, Doctor._

"I know the question seems rather rude but, Jonathan, sexuality is often times a topic thoroughly discussed in therapy, and your case is no different. I want our discussions to be open and honest, and who knows, you might find some solace in discovering parts of yourself that you haven't yet considered."

"Are you calling me gay? Are you calling me a fag?"

"God no, Jonathan, this isn't junior high."

"Are you laughing at me?" Now he really was starting to get angry. "Are you actually _laughing_ at me?"

"No, Jonathan! I would never, that wasn't meant to be offensive.

"Because if you _are_ laughing at me, I swear to you, I fucking swear, I'll slit your throat in your sleep." _Where did that come from?_

His doctor took a deep breath before speaking. "I understand. I promise you, I wasn't laughing. I would never laugh at you. Please forgive me."

Forgive? Jonathan had never had someone ask his forgiveness before, not in this manner, and especially not by his therapist. No one in Arkham ever asked forgiveness, certainly not the staff. It was strange, and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch, unsure. There was something pulling at him, and only then did he realize the effects of the medication were rendering him tired and wary.

"You've both engaged in sex haven't you?" she asked suddenly.

"Why do you keep bringing this up?!"

"Jonathan, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I am not ashamed! And you're presumptions are _pissing me off_!"

"I'm glad you're letting me know. This is good progress. Express your feelings. Give them a voice. Don't let them bottle up inside you."

_No, this isn't the way it's supposed to go, this isn't what we're supposed to talk about, damn it. _"I am not gay! I have no sexual desires whatsoever, ok?!" Jonathan rose from his seat and began to pace.

"That's fine. A lot of people express no immediate urge for any sexual relations between either gender, and a lot are quite happy with their lives."

"He's not important to me! I am not a faggot!" He held his own shoulders tightly.

"I understand, you say you have no feelings for him, so you have no feelings for him. That's fine."

"What does _he_ say

"I'm not at liberty to repeat anything said in other sessions to patients. Plus, I don't see Jervis, Doctor Bartholomew does."

"_Fuck_ Doctor Bartholomew, what does Jervis say?"

Doctor Leland sat up straight and paused. Finally she spoke. "He confesses sentimental feelings for you."

"Oh for Christ sake, he's fucking mad!" Jonathan had now begun to sulk about the office space, breathing hard, his eyes darting back and forth at nothing.

"Well, that _is_ why he's here," Doctor Leland said without thought.

"Oh, so now that makes me a homosexual?" _What is wrong with me? Why am I so upset?_ "So now everyone who's crazy is queer, Doctor? Is that your diagnosis?"

"Jonathan, calm down. You're purposely misconstruing what I've said."

"I have never had sex with another man." Jonathan puffed out his chest with dignity, as if the very idea repulsed him. "How dare you ask me that? You disrespectful _bitch_."

"Jonathan, sit down now."

"So what if it happened? I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not _gay_!"

Doctor Leland sighed and held her forehead. She gave him an empathetic look and motioned towards the couch for him to sit, which he at last obliged to. The clock on the wall said they had twenty minutes, maybe enough time to convince him not to hate himself for the day. "You know, Jonathan, you don't have to fit into some label of sexuality. You don't have to associate with being gay, straight, bisexual, transsexual, or any other kind of 'sexual' you can think of. You preferences of that nature are not in question here, and they never will be. I won't ask you to tell me anything further about it, but I will ask you to be honest… with yourself."

Jonathan stared off as her words ended. He couldn't let it go. "I can't hear him," he said and almost broke down.

Doctor Leland paused. "Hear who?"

"My head is so quiet."

"I understand. Scarecrow."

Jonathan nodded, tormented by the loss of his alter, and glanced up at the clock; eighteen minutes.

"It's the medication, Jonathan," Doctor Leland said. "The medication is _working_. I know it feels odd but you've have to trust me on this."

Jonathan shook his head and looked to the floor, wanting to disappear. There was no way to describe the vast emptiness he felt inside, how lonely and desolate it was in his own head. He could feel Doctor Leland's eyes on him, watching him, dissecting his every twitch, but he wasn't going to offer up anymore, lest he vomit on her floor.

She seemed to catch the hint. "Alright, we're done for today. But I want to see you tomorrow. You just keep taking your meds and getting sleep. We'll speak more tomorrow."

He rose and walked slowly in front of her as she called in the staff. The guards opened the door, cuffed his wrists, and he went quietly.

* * *

Showering with other men had always been a crisis for Jonathan. In short: he _hated_ it. His bony figure had always been ridiculed by bullies and often times the verbal abuse escalated to that of the physical, though the taunting always ended before it got too serious. Nevertheless, the scars wrought from this awkward childhood dilemma haunted him in his adult life, and Arkham was no different. He disliked bathing around other men and usually kept to himself in a corner if he could manage, but as time went on he found he didn't care. It was too bothersome a worry in comparison to the many other things he had on his plate, so he didn't care who he was next to, who was diagonal from him, or who was on the far side back.

All he cared about was the hot stream of liquid trailing down his neck, dripping off his nakedness to pool under his feet until it was sucked down the drain. That was his only paradise inside the hellhole Gotham city deemed a respectable treatment facility. It was an escape.

He stepped under the first nozzle he could, sighing to himself as the guards searched, stripped, then signaled a few more inmates inside. There was only one guard who kept watch during the fifteen minutes they were allowed to wash, and though it was embarrassing having to openly strip in front of this man every day, the reward to cleanse was far greater than the humiliation.

"Alrigh', fifteen. Yall' know the drill," said the guard.

Jonathan observed the room, noting those he knew and those he didn't, careful to cast his eyes down without seeming obvious. He stood in the center of the main wall opposite from the exit. There were three shower heads to his left and three to his right. On the left wall, perpendicular to the center, were four nozzles set at equal lengths apart, as well as three on the right. He was smack dab in the middle, but he liked to think he was safer out in the open then hidden in a corner, although he wasn't sure if his fear had been stifled due to the drugs or to a mystifying bout of courage. Either way, he knew the guard could see him _and_ his bare ass very clearly.

All thoughts disappeared at the spurt of hot water upon his head. He felt the warmth and melted, letting the water run through his hair, collecting dust and dirt while it trickled down his face, wetting his lips and chin before it dripped to his feet. Lolling back, he traced his hands through his dampening hair, realizing he needed a trim, and bowed his head forward again. Another minute and a bar of soap was handed to him by a fellow inmate- someone he didn't know but had seen before- and he nodded a quick thanks before lathering up a froth of bubbles. It occurred to him that not many men actually bathed at shower time, opting rather to stand vacantly until they were allowed to leave, so retrieving his own soap had never been an issue, and he liked that just fine.

While turning for the given soap he took another quick glance around, noting the other inmates in the room. Most he didn't know, only Edward Nigma and Garfield Lynns, inmates set apart from the usual jeering fools who criticized him for his weight. He was lucky to be placed with considerate inmates, but he wasn't rejoicing… he really just wanted Jervis.

His head snapped to attention as he felt a slight tingle in his gut. _No. Not here._ He could _not_ get an erection _here_. He looked down, concentrating on the tiles, counting them, asking himself what they were made of, how they were made, what factory, where, when. After focusing strictly on a non-sexual object he began to calm and his thoughts drifted back to the water easing his muscles. He forced himself to relax and the room filled with steam as he slowly washed.

His stance eventually slackened and in that moment he felt like a different person; just a normal man taking a hot shower. Not someone on the edge, in therapy, taking pills, sexually confused, in denial, and dying for love. The water masked his fears; washed them off and drowned them out, and before he knew it everyone had left, leaving him and one other man- excluding the on looking guard- to finish rinsing off.

"Ya' got six minutes," the guard stated, checking his watch and stepping out.

As ridiculous as it seemed, Jonathan loved this guard as he always gave Jonathan his last few minutes in privacy, seeing as he was the only inmate to linger past the ten minute mark. Jonathan smiled and crossed his arms against the wall, tucking his head while watching the suds disappear down the drain. He closed his eyes.

And he froze.

A wet arm slipped around his waist and rubbed against his side.

"Riddle me this, Jon-boy," Edward said.

"Eddie?" Jonathan asked. "W-what are you doing?!"

"We don't have much time. Don't speak."

Silenced, Jonathan leaned back against Edward, gripping at the man's wrist. Did he want this? Why Nigma? Wait- Nigma? _Edward_ Nigma? But the current flood of thoughts suddenly ceased as he moved into the touch.

"Jon," Edward said. "I've wanted you since the day we met. Before we ever met."

Jonathan was vaguely away of a firm hand gripping his rear. There was nothing to keep the touch at bay. Still, he didn't want what the other man sought, and kept a steady hand on the other's wrist and squeezed to make sure Edward knew the answer was a solid _no_. Edward was a gentleman at heart, so he didn't push.

The minutes seemed to stop and drag and the steam of the shower became a thick heavy fog that nearly brought Jonathan to his knees. Then the white came, and he had to blink several times to come back from the intensity it brought. That was when he looked down.

The gap between his legs was slick, but not with water. Eddie smiled a half-lidded look and watched as Jonathan frantically wiped the fluid away. With a sickened expression, Jonathan rushed toward the exit, breaking for the guard to unlock the door. The exit opened and the officer stepped in, holding the door ajar for the two waiting inmates and giving them both clean towels as they left, but doing a double take as he witnessed the tall man's shaken state. Jonathan wrapped the towel around his upper torso, covering his chest down to his knees, while Edward instead draped the towel loosely around his waist. Jonathan hurried to dry off and change, but Edward never lost that triumphant grin, staring with a predatory-like gaze that made Jonathan's heart skip a beat.

* * *

"J-Jervis? Hey, Jervis? Mr. Snoots wants to say hi."

Arnold Wesker, aka The Ventriloquist, shoved an orange puppet into Jervis's line of sight and made its hand wave through the hole in its backside. Mr. Snoots was a 'positive reinforcement' for Arnold, an object allowed to strengthen his social skills while also to encourage and support his natural talents. This gave the confidence to interact with fellow inmates and therapist, which in turn aided Arnold's recovery.

Mr. Snoots readily expressed what Arnold couldn't, therefore Doctor Jeremiah Arkham, head of Akrham Asylum, agreed to let the harmless, old man keep his innocuous puppet. Without his alter ego Scarface, Arnold Wesker was just a quiet, tractable, well-mannered old man; not a vicious crime boss capable of gunning down thirty innocent civilians whilst his two thugs, Rhino and Mugsy, snatched their valuables.

"Hello, Mr. Tetch. Whatcha readin'?" the puppet asked, its flimsy mouth flapping.

Jervis peeped over the top of his book, courtesy Doctor Bartholomew, and raised a dour brow at the puppet. He wasn't in the mood for this. But his medication made him extremely gloomy, a symptom he was loath to endure, so he made himself perk up regardless of how stupid he felt conversing with a toy. "I'm reading a book about manic-depression," he stated without emotion.

"_Oooh_, what's that?" Mr. Snoots asked in a funny, Jim Henson-styled voice.

Jervis closed the hefty book and rested it on his chest while his cellmate sat at the foot of his bunk. He sighed and sat up, perturbed by Arnold's insulting tone; damn it, he wasn't a _child_. Staring at Mr. Snoots, he clutched his fists together in silent, passive rage.

"Oh, Mr. Snoots," Arnold suddenly said in his own voice, "mind your own business. It's impolite to be so nosey." The old man pushed his rounded spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

Upon seeing the real Arnold again, not the infuriating puppet that nearly obscured the man's actual presence, Jervis calmed, deflating as he realized his rapid mood swings were probably due to his medication. He wasn't mad at Arnold, no… Arnold was one of his only friends in Arkham, and though it wasn't saying much, he enjoyed the older man's company, and for the most part treated him with great respect.

But didn't feel like himself, and he knew it was the damn _pills_. Dr. Bartholomew had prescribed quite a colorful array of medication, the worst of which being the lithium. Jervis _hated_ lithium. Not to mention his time spent with the great and wonderfully fat Doctor Bartholomew was liable to kill him in itself. That or his own hands would do the job…

"So whatcha' readin'?" Mr. Snoots asked.

"Oh… yes. Uh, manic-depression."

"Whas' that?"

"Why, manic-depression? Well, it's a… psychiatric disorder." Jervis had to remind himself that he was speaking with a puppet, and looked away.

"_Ooooh_," Mr. Snoots went on. "Why you readin' that?"

"Let's just call it homework."

In fact, the book was just that, a somewhat grounded approach to treat Jervis's multiple disorders. Doctor Bartholomew told him to read the book every night and to summarize what he had read in therapy the next morning. This was supposed to 'enlighten' Jervis of his disorder, his serious manic-depression in particular, so that he could comprehend the vast assortment of emotions that plagued him on a daily basis; it was supposed to make his illness more _real_. Bloody nonsense was what it was.

"Whas' wrong, Mr. Tetch?" the puppet asked. "You look like you have the sads."

"Oh, nothing."

"Tell Mr. Snoots what's wrong, Jervis," Arnold encouraged sweetly. "You'll feel a lot better, I promise."

Jervis smiled uneasily at the old man then turned back to the puppet, saying, "Well, let me put it this way," he paused, "Have you ever been…" he scratched his head, "in _love_, Mr. Snoots?"

"Love? Is that what's makin' you sad, Mr. Tetch?" asked the puppet.

Jervis sighed miserably. "Yes."

"Well, who is it?!" Mr. Snoots asked.

Arnold suddenly tapped the puppet on the head. "Mr. Snoots, how many times do I have to tell you, it's not polite to ask about other people's business."

Jervis had to grin. The whole thing was actually kind of charming, and he was starting to feel better. "Oh, it's alright, Arnold. I admire a man- well… _creature_ that has the guts to say what's on their mind." He looked up in thought at the mattress above. "He's someone tall, dark, and… awkwardly handsome."

"Sounds dreamy," Mr. Snoots replied.

"Yes," Jervis said. "But you know what?" He leaned in like he was going to indulge the puppet a grand secret.

"What?" the puppet asked, leaning in to meet him.

"There's someone else," Jervis whispered behind his palm.

The puppet's mouth hung open with a comical expression. "Mr. Tetch!"

Jervis laughed. "Don't worry. They're both the same person. One couldn't be without the other. They're like opposites, like black and white, but they function as one. They're different though. One is pleasant and meek and the other is… _dangerous_." The grin Jervis wore stretched across his face.

"Wow! Do ya' miss 'em?"

"Or course. But I fear he might not miss me in return." Jervis took a trembling breath. "I'm worried." He rested his head in his hands. He looked up at Arnold and confessed, "I'm lonely."

Tears began to arise and stream down his cheeks, and he put his head back in his hands, hidden by his palms. A frail arm wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him into an unexpected embrace. The puppet sat on the ground forgotten.

"I'm sorry."


	13. The Escape: Part I

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: The Escape: Part I  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 4,138  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Edward Nigma, Daedalus Boch, Joker, Harvey Dent, Officer Aaron Cash, Doctor Jeremiah Arkham  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch, Edward Nigma/Jonathan Crane  
Chapter rating: Heavy R  
Summary: Jonathan gets into a fight. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**The Escape: Part I**

Jonathan sat hunched in the mess hall. His tray was stacked with pancakes and a serving of undercooked scrambled eggs accompanied by a carton of chocolate milk. It was breakfast time and all the other inmates sat at their usual seats, chatting amongst each other in anticipation of another tedious day. Jonathan, unlike the day before, was tired and irritable, almost certainly due to the fact that he hadn't slept a wink the preceding night. He'd been too nervous around Edward, fearful the man might molest him in his sleep. Their interaction the day before left him feeling dirty, and in a way he felt somewhat wronged. The event engulfed his mind and he stared ahead, immersed in a strange emotion he'd never felt before. It was… shame. And guilt.

"Heell_oooo_?" Daedalus waved his hand in front of Jonathan's face.

"Yeah? What?"

"You look tired, Crane. Jesus, what you do all nigh' long?"

Just then Edward came and sat next to Jonathan, his flashy smile practically catching the light and sparkled. "He thinks up ingenious ways to scare the shit out of people like _you_, Doodle." He slapped Jonathan on the back playfully.

Jonathan shied away from Edward's lingering hand and eyed his own plate, feeling a loss of words at the subtle touch. Edward rubbed his back with a stealthy caress, smiling while the inmates around buzzed. Jonathan tensed but didn't retaliate, instead sitting in silence, his eyes partially glazed in absence. Daedalus gave the two a suspicious look then shook his head, mumbling something incomprehensible under his breath as he peeled away the foil stuck to his muffin.

As Jonathan sat surrendering to Edward's touch, Jervis stepped out of the busy line, tray filled with assorted breakfast items and a small paper cup steeped with tea, as well as a book secured under his arm. The man walked with his head held high towards his seat, overlooking Jonathan's table as he strolled on without a rearward glance.

Jonathan watched the blonde man out of the corner of his eye, wounded by the barefaced disregard. He longed to cry out to Jervis, but simply gawked as he viewed the man sip his tea with timid lips, purposefully avoiding eye contact. Jonathan couldn't believe what he was feeling; a nauseating mixture of violent emotions tore at him from every direction, painting his insides red. He felt sick.

"Jon, is everything ok?" Edward asked as he followed Jonathan's line of sight.

"Yeah, you look pale. I mean, paler than normal, ya' know?" Daedalus added.

"I-I'm fine," Jonathan replied. His hand drifted up to his heart and clutched.

"You don't look fine, Jon," Edward said. He placed the back of his hand against Jonathan's forehead.

Daedalus bit into his muffin and said, "Jesus, wha' you his momma? Give the man sum space, Eddie."

"I'm fine." Jonathan repeated.

He picked up his fork and began to eat, rubbing his chest over his heart as he chewed. The food was bad, but he couldn't taste it; his senses had gone numb as he watched Jervis open the book and begin to read, blue eyes remaining averted to the page in concentration.

God, the man was _ignoring_ him!

Jonathan's heart clenched and realization set in as the blonde wet a finger and turned a page elegantly, head still held high. Though Jonathan resented Jervis for the indifference, he secretly longed for the man to look up. _Come on, Jervis… look at me… see me_.

There was a sudden disgust felt by his own lack of control, but he couldn't help himself. Being with Jervis was the only full sense of happiness he had ever known, besides teaching at the University- but he had lost that too. If there were only a way to right his wrongs in that one moment, to turn back time and stop the horrible process of his life from continuing down the wretched path he'd let it wander, he could live in a boundless freedom he'd never known. But _fear_ held him tight and he stayed motionless, pining for his companion in silence while Edward caressed his back.

* * *

After breakfast the inmates were returned to their cells; they lined the hallways as the guards guided them in pairs. A guard approached Jonathan and Edward next and they walked a few steps forward before being hassled into their own shared cell. Jonathan turned and gripped the bars, peering out to see the other inmates pass by. Jervis… where was _Jervis_? Maybe he could see the man as they returned him to his room. Ever hopeful, Jonathan watched closely as the guards ushered the last few inmates, none of which being his companion. He cursed under his breath and slumped away from the barred door, his hope fading fast as he glanced up to see Edward.

The Riddler sat on his bunk, observing Jonathan with an unrecognizable expression. It looked like a strange cross between adoration and jealousy. The man swung his legs over the edge of his bunk and hunched forward, resting his forearms atop his thighs for support. Feeling hapless, Jonathan turned away and pressed the side of his face against one of the cold bars of their cell.

"Jon, what's wrong? Tell me," Edward said.

"Nothing."

The bunk behind Jonathan shifted and he could hear a creak then Edwards handsome voice. "You haven't so much as _looked_ at me since yesterday."

"Nothing's _wrong_, god _damnit_! Leave me alone," Jonathan snapped.

"Jon… don't speak to me like that," Edward replied. "I haven't done anything wrong… I care about you, Jon."

"Don't call me _Jon_, that's not my name."

"I just wanted you to know. I might not be the most… heartfelt person in the world. But I like you a lot, Jonathan."

"You care? Then don't ever fucking talk to me again." Jonathan gripped the steel of their cell even more, envisioning Edward's neck as one of the bars.

"Hey," Edward said with a growl, "I _told_ you not to talk to me like that." He jumped down from his bunk and grabbed Jonathan's wrist, prying it away from the bar with a rough, unyielding squeeze.

"Ah!" Jonathan said as Edward twisted his arm. "Get off me!"

"Then calm down."

Jonathan tensed at first then ordered his muscles to relax, and Edward slowly let him go, but instead of stepping away he took Jonathan's whittled waist and pulled the man closer.

Jonathan struggled some but stopped as Edward began to speak. "Just take it easy for a second, alright? The medication's been really tough on you. Loosen up, sit down, chill out. You've been stressed since yesterday. I thought maybe that had been taken care of…"

"Let me go, Edward," Jonathan said fleetingly with his hands pressed against Edward's chest. God, he wished those inbred white coats hadn't clipped his nails, without them he felt defenseless.

"I will, I will, just hold on," Edward said and smirked. "But first answer me this one riddle."

Jonathan rolled his eyes, his lips tugging at their corners with impatience, but waited for the riddle. Edward smiled a sly grin and finally said, "I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold, I am lawful, unlawful, a duty, a fault. I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought; an extraordinary boon, and a matter of course, and yielding with pleasure… when taken by force. What am I?"

While reciting his riddle, Edward had leaned in close- too close for Jonathan's comfort. An obnoxious breath wafted against Jonathan's cheek and he grimaced. He feigned ignorance and replied, "I don't know, Edward."

He pulled but ceased as soon as he realized Edward had him with strong arms, and though he was taller by a few inches, he knew fighting was futile; Edwards muscle mass clearly out-matched his own.

Edward smiled big. "Yes, you do… Oh yes, you do. You're not stupid, Jon. I know you know what it is."

"Then let me go."

"Answer me."

Jonathan sighed, angling his head away from Edward's breathy mouth, and responded. "A kiss."

"That's right," Eddie said low and bent forward with his lips pursed out.

"Fuck off!" Jonathan snarled. He tore himself away from Edward's grip but was seized by his wrist and forced around. His arms were pinned behind him like a pro-wrestler would an opponent, then pressed to his sides as Edward clinched him tight. "Let me _GO_!" he yelled.

"It's that little _bastard_, isn't it?" Edward said. His voiced sounded full of rage, jealousy, and pain all at once.

Jonathan arched against the other man, determined to free himself, but couldn't so much as budge under the unspeakably tight grip around his chest. He could feel Edward's chest heave and shudder as the man spoke out in pent up fury.

"It's that _fucking little creep_!" Edward hissed into his ear.

"Just let me go, Edward, you're hurting me," Jonathan replied.

Edward held his breath then suddenly pushed Jonathan away. "I don't understand." He bit his lip.

Jonathan didn't answer. Edward smoothed his hands through his hair with a business-like poise and said, "I just don't understand, Jon. We're perfect for each other."

"Whoa, whoa!" Jonathan said. His hands shot up in defense. "This is… well, _this_ is complete news to me, Eddie. Jesus, I had no idea!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know you swung that way? I mean I know a lot- _a lot_- but I don't know everything. But how could I have known, Jon?"

"Because I _don't_ swing that way!"

"Well, then what the hell are you doing with the Hatter?"

"Don't. Do not fucking bring him into this, it's got nothing to do with him!"

"Oh God, Jon, give me a break, you're all over him!" Edward sneered and stalked to the other side of the cell. "I'm not blind; you ogle him like he's some tall broad with big tits. He walks by and you wet yourself, for crying out loud."

"You shut the hell-"

"HEY!" A stocky guard raced toward their cell and banged his baton on the bars. "Will yall' cut it the hell out?" he said in a southern accent. "There're other people in here besides yourselves."

Jonathan put his hands on his hips and slunk back, silenced in speech but not in anger. Edward waved a mocking, half-hearted salute at the guard, and the man eyed the two before turning around the way he came. As soon as he was gone from view the quarrel started up again.

"This is all your fault." Jonathan pointed an accusatory finger in Edwards's direction. "This whole thing is your fault!"

"My fault?!" Edward's mouth hung open in shock and outrage. "Well, riddle me this, Jon-boy, who's the one who came like a blocked up fire hose the other day? Who, Jon, who?"

Jonathan turned away and swore, then turned back and yelled, "Oh, fuck you, Nigma, fuck you!"

"You know, it's funny, I could've fucked you," Edward said. "But I'm such a goddamn gentleman, I never would have done it without your consent. God, you could have stopped me, Jon!"

"Oh _could_ I have?"

"Yes! I would have stopped had I know you didn't want it, but you _did_, Jon, you _did_ want it." Edward took a long breath. "Listen, Jonathan, can't we talk about this? Can't we calm down and just talk?"

"Why? So you can con my like you do everyone else?"

"God no, Jon. I want you to understand. Come on, we're practically made for each another." While Edward spoke he held out a hand, hoping Jonathan would step forward and take it.

Jonathan eyed the hand warily, then crossed his arms.

Eddie sighed but went on. "Look at us; two like minds, two intellectual enthusiasts… two dedicated individuals both _longing_ for the same respect from those goddamned_ buffoons_!"

Jonathan paused before nodding his head, giving Edward an understanding look though still shying away.

"We both lust for knowledge, am I right? I know you worked at the University. I know you had a rough end there. But you were by _far_ more passionate about the education you taught then most in the field. I know you, Jon. Better than you think."

"How'd you know I worked at GU?" Jonathan asked.

"Like I said, I know more than you think." Edward took a step forward. "Please, Jon. Look at us. Look at how we match, how we fit. We're like puzzle pieces, Jon, like yin and yang." He took another step closer. "Like black and white."

Jonathan froze at the statement, a jolt of vertigo making his heart flutter, and he felt as if he would topple over. He was fixated on the words like an insect drawn to light, and the image of chess pieces scattered about his brain like a hurricane. "No," he said simply.

"What?"

"I said no. No, we _don't_ match." There was a lump he had to swallow in his throat, but he made the words come out. "And _no_, we're not black and white. We don't fit."

Edward stood and slowly tried to digest the rejection. He clenched his fists and tried again. "Yes, we _do_. You just don't see it, Jon, you don't want to see it. But no matter what you think, you and I are of the same breed. We understand each other."

Jonathan hesitated. "Maybe we're similar, but that doesn't mean I want anything to do with you."

Edward flinched as if he'd been slapped and bowed his head. Jonathan felt a weight lift off his shoulders at the confession and he relaxed, applauding himself for tackling his fears and facing his cellmate. The confrontation seemed over, and not that it was out of the way he could focus all his attention on escape, hopefully with a short, blonde haired man by his side, but though Jonathan had thought his dismissal clear, his victory was short lived. Edward tried once again.

"It's because of theHatter," he said ploddingly. "You have nothing in common with him, Jon. _Nothing_."

"I'll be the judge of that," Jonathan said. He paused, his hands wringing together. "He matches me better then you think."

"No. He's using you, Jon- like he uses everyone. All he wants is a brainless _Alice_ to be his loyal sex slave. The man is completely unstable. Look at him, all he does it spout 'Lewis Carroll' quotes, trying to be a freak. He just wants your attention, and when he gets it he'll never let you go."

"That's not true," Jonathan shot back. "And who are you to judge? Or haven't you looked around? We're all crazy."

"I am _not_ crazy. I'm perfectly sane; I'm just smarter than everyone else. Is that a crime? Does that make me crazy, Jon?"

"That's ridiculous and you know it. And it's beside's the point. Plus he's…" Jonathan paused and glanced up.

Edward was looking at him with a raised brow, waiting. There was a smirk on his handsome face. "He's what, Jon?"

Jonathan glared and summoned up his conviction. "He's a good man," he said.

Edward burst into laughter. The man's howls were loud, harsh, and shrill enough to be heard at the other end of the ward where a few other inmates joined in, cackling uncontrollably though they had no conception as to why. Jonathan's eyes narrowed and he waited for the laughter to cease.

"Oh, excuse me!" Edward said, still laughing and holding his stomach. "He's a _good_ man! You are so right, Jon, thank you, I've been enlightened!"

Jonathan tried to let the jeering brush from his shoulders, as he knew Edward was purposefully aiming to incite his anger by using Jervis as bait, but the maneuver was working; he was pretty pissed. "Shut up," he said in a low voice.

"Oh, Jon-boy, I'm so sorry. You getting mad? No, no, I'm sorry, _please_, go on! Tell me about how _good_ a man tea-sucker is! Please, tell me! Is he _good_ in the sack?"

Edward's crowing then became loud shrieks of laughter, and Jonathan's anger reached its boiling point. His hands balled up into fists as he remembered the years of being mocked and taunted, teased and ridiculed, beaten and laughed at. It all lead up to this tortured man he knew he was, teetering on the edge of destruction, until one day, he would finally fight back.

WHACK!

A cracking sound reached Jonathan's ears and for a moment he couldn't remember where he was, until suddenly the image of Edward's bloody lip rocked him back to reality. The solid punch practically resonated off the walls, finding its way to neighboring inmates, who at the sound of knuckle scraping flesh, shouted the word _fight_ as if surrounding two battling kids on the street. The entire hall then erupted, and some yelled _deck 'em_ and _kick his ass_ and _hickety-pickety, my black hen_, the last of which had no relation to the fight, but was shouted nonetheless.

As the noise grew Jonathan's eyes widened and he cursed at himself as Edward stood tall, his lip swollen from the blow. Edward pounced like a raging beast, grabbing Jonathan's throat and shaking him furiously. Jonathan gasped for air, terrified, and clawed at Edward's grip, wishing to God he had some sort of protection.

"I'M SORRY EDDIE!" he shrieked, but his apology was choked short by a sharp squeeze.

The scrap evolved into a one-sided throttle, and the surrounding inmates slammed their fists on their steeled doors, calling out bets and screaming _I got Nigma_ and _me too_ and _kick his scrawny ass_. While the inmate's screamed, a boisterous laugh pierced through the deafening noise, silencing the entire hall, except for the small sounds of the on-going scuffle. The Joker, located five cells down from the fight, laughed once more and turned to face his cellmate. He spoke so all would hear. "Say, Harv!" he yelled, "I wager Nigma on this one, who da' you think will win?"

Harvey, stretched out on his bunk, turned his head to meet the Joker, revealing only the charred side of his face. He paused then took his beloved silver dollar- with which he made all his decisions- and flipped it with his thumb. He caught it in one hand then slapped it over the other, exposing a scratched surface. "Crane," he said with a rasp.

The Joker gave him a baffled look.

"To LOSE," Harvey specified.

Joker let out another sinister laugh. The corridor followed suit, joining in with the Joker's caw, and resumed their catty bets in excitement. The cruel cheering interlaced, drowning then resounding back in full as Jonathan trembled, and tears welled up in the corners of his eyes while Eddie went on choking him. He pawed at Edward's hands then tore at the man's face, his heart thudding as he attempted to score those blazing emerald eyes. Edward tilted his head from side to side, evading Jonathan's efforts to scratch him, and Jonathan cried out in panic as his vision started to fade; his head whirled and began to blacken.

In one last attempt to free himself, Jonathan smacked the side of Edward's face, making the man loosen his hold long enough for Jonathan to tear away. Jonathan wheezed and cough, scrambling gracelessly to his feet while Edward did the same.

"Please, Eddie! STOP!" Jonathan screamed.

Edward seized Jonathan's collar, shoving him into their metal door. Jonathan slumped to the ground and peered up at the towering figure above him. The nearby inmates cheered as they witnessed Edward grip Jonathan's shirt and strike him once-twice-three times in the face, the sickening crack of bone on bone sounding down the corridor and throughout the hall. Jonathan screamed as Edward beat him, flailing helplessly while the sadistic laughter boomed.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?!" yelled a guard. The man raced through the corridor with another guard close behind.

They neared the cell, expecting to see two inmates caught in a childish brawl, but stopped stiff in their tracks as the found Edward pounding the life out of his cellmate. While the guards stood frozen, their mouths agape, Edward rose up on both feet and started to kick Jonathan in the stomach. Jonathan shrieked as the gut-wrenching blows connected hard. "Help!" he cried out. "_Help me_!"

The guards hesitated, jerking forward then stopping short. "That is kinda' funny," the first guard said with a chuckle. The second one stifled a laugh.

Jonathan's heart sank as he heard the guards. My god, they were going to just sit back and watch as this madman beat him senseless. They were laughing at him, having a good time at his expense, just like when he was young, and while Edward lifted him by the torn collar of his shirt he let loose all his sadness; he started to cry.

"Harper! Wrigley! What the _fuck_ are you two doing just STANDING THERE?!" screamed another voice. Officer Aaron Cash, chief of Arkham security, came sprinting over to the scene, a baton and an X26 taser held firmly in each hand. "Break it up!" he bellowed. "I said back _DOWN_, Nigma!" He dropped the baton to aim the taser.

Edward seized Jonathan once more, raising his fist high. Jonathan clenched his eyes shut and grimaced, his body tense and ready for the blow when-

BANG!

TZZZZZZTT!

Edward shrieked, breaking the crowd's laughter until all that was heard was silence. Jonathan looked past his knee to see Edward on the ground, two dart-like electrodes clinging to his torso, rendering his muscles useless through a powerful electronic charge. Seeing the image spurred Jonathan to crawl away from the door, and he edged close to the nearby corner as the two idiot guards, Harper and Wrigley, dart to the cells entrance. They unlocked the door and yanked it open while Cash made a call on his handheld radio. "Doctor Arkham?" he said.

The radio crackled, coming to life. "Yes, Mr. Cash, what's going on down there?"

"Doctor Arkham, we have a situation here- Nigma went and beat the shit outta his cellmate." Cash let his finger off the transmission switch and waited.

The radio responded. "I'll be right there."

"No, no! It's alright, Dr. Arkham," Cash said quickly. "We got things under control, don't worry, you don't need to come down here." He paused, finger off.

"Alright. Get them to the infirmary. After Crane is checked out stick him in an empty cell in the special containment area, then put Nigma back in his own."

"Yes, sir," Cash replied. He slipped the radio back in its holster but it came to life once more.

"Aaron?" the older man's voice asked.

"Yes, Doctor Arkham?"

"It's nice to know I can count on someone other than myself in this madhouse. Keep up the good work." The radio then shut out.

Aaron smiled briefly at the subtle compliment then frowned as he witnessed the two inmates being dragged out of their cell, one a bleeding mess and one angry as all hell. Harper cuffed Jonathan's wrists and pulled him to the center of the hall, leaving him sprawled on the hard surface to help with Edward.

Edward, though previously incapacitated by the taser, was combating the two guards with a fierce, new energy as if his body hadn't suffered a 50,000 volt shock. He struggled and yelled for the guards to release him while Cash picked up his baton. "Here Edward," Cash said, "let me help you calm _DOWN_." He swung his baton into Edward's gut.

Edward lurched forward from the blow and ceased his struggling, enabling the guards to grab him by each arm and press him to the floor, twisting his hands behind his back and cuffing him in relief. Cash gave them a livid look then stepped over to Jonathan who laid half-conscious on the hard floor. Jonathan's face was banged and bruised. His left eye had swelled up so much he couldn't see straight and his mouth was caked with blood from a large gash on his upper lip. He undoubtedly sustained some injuries to his ribs and stomach, and his neck was discolored with the imprints from being strangled, but he was still breathing, and for that Mr. Cash was thankful.

"Here, lemme' help you up, Crane," Cash said. He bent down and slipped a strong arm around Jonathan's back, pulling him up to his feet. The surrounding inmates snickered as they watched Cash escort Jonathan down the corridor.

"Suit Nigma in a straight then put him back in his cell. Take him down to the infirmary after I give the ok," Cash said over his shoulder to the other guards.

"You got it, Cash," Wrigley replied.

"Yeah, yeah," Cash mumbled under his breath. "Useless _fucks_."


	14. The Escape: Part II

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: The Escape: Part II  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,439  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Arnold Wesker, Officer Aaron Cash,  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: R  
Summary: Jonathan reflects on his misery. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**The Escape: Part II**

"Jervis?"

Jervis glanced up from his book, annoyed at being interrupted yet _again _by Arnold Wesker. Jervis lazed on the bottom bunk, back propped up against the concrete wall with a leg crossed over the other. It had taken him _forever_ to get into a comfortable position and now he was restless all over again. He twitched at the sight of Mr. Snoots residing motionless in Arnold's lap, and stared, hypnotized by its bright orange color and lustrous, shiny eyes. "_What_?" he said, vibrant baby-blues burning fiery at Arnold from across their cell. He waited impatiently for the older man to respond, drumming a prim finger on the book's cover in frustration.

"N-nothing," Arnold replied.

Jervis glowered, the look accompanied by an exasperated huff, and turned back to his book, desperately trying to reclaim his calm. He clutched at the sides of the book and forced himself to re-read the entire page, but Arnold's idle humming was driving him off the wall. His medication was at its peak, the point at which it was the absolute hardest to cope with; it made him jumpy and irritable.

Not only that, but he _hated_ being lucid. It took the fun out of everything and exaggerated his moods, so much that he couldn't feel in anything besides absolute joy or utter sadness. God, he _loathed_ his medication. The book trembled in his grasp and he strained to get them to cease, but they felt disconnected from his body and he couldn't control them. He took a few shaky breaths then forced himself to calm, and his hands finally stopped shaking. When he was ready again, he searched for the passage he was reading before being so _rudely_ interrupted, when Wesker spoke out again.

"Jervis?"

That was it.

"WHAT, Arnold, _WHAT_?!" Jervis yelled, slamming the book down in his lap, "WHAT do you _WANT_ from me?!"

Arnold tensed and whimpered, "I-I'm sorry, J-Jervis. I-I just wanted to tell you what a great f-friend you've been."

Jervis growled at the reply then leaned back against the wall, his frown eerily transforming into a half-sided grin. He forced the rest of his face into a mock happy expression, exposing a straight, white smile that gleamed in their darkened cell, and said through clenched teeth, "Thank you, Arnold. Now… _please_, let me finish this page."

Arnold smiled and nodded, oblivious. He turned down to Mr. Snoots and lovingly pawed at the puppets fake fur. At that, Jervis tore open his book and frantically searched for the last page he'd read, unsure if he could concentrate due to the repeated interruptions. After a few minutes he found the strength to relax and continued to read, ever thankful for the quiet. Arnold glanced up at Jervis, then down to Mr. Snoots, then slipped the puppet on his hand and lifted it up to make it appear as if it were sitting on his knee. He was about to interrupt once more when, fortunately, he became distracted by a faint whistle coming from the right side of their cell. Intrigued, he crawled towards the metal door and tilted an ear through the bars, waiting for someone to speak.

"Hello?" he whispered.

"Hey!" said a voice in the neighboring cell. "There's been a fight!"

"Oh, heavens!" Arnold replied. He rose a hand to cover his mouth.

"Yeah!" the voice said low. "Nigma beat the shit outa Crane! Pass it on!"

"Oh, my word… I-I will!" Arnold turned away from the door and crawled to the center of the cell, remaining kneeled in front of Jervis's bunk. Arnold waited for a moment, observing the crown of Jervis's blonde head budging back and forth behind the book. Arnold looked down at Mr. Snoots seated in his lap, as if confiding in the orange puppet for strength, then decided to just spit it out.

"J-Jervis?" he said.

Jervis jerked and peeked his head up over the frame of his book, his blonde shaggy hair draping his forehead and casting a dark shadow around two fuming eyes. He said nothing, so Arnold quickly continued, "Jervis, there's been a fight!"

"You interrupted me to tell me that?" Jervis asked and scowled.

"But, Jervis! It-"

"Jervis Tetch?" came a voice outside their cell.

Jervis peered to his left and meet sight with an officer garbed in the standard GCPD outfit, a uniform unlike the regular orderlies employed at Akrham. Jervis gave the stout man a skeptical look, his anger vanquished by curiosity, and replied, "Yes? Yes, I'm Jervis Tetch?"

"Cell change," the officer said.

Jervis glanced at Arnold, to which his cellmate shook his head and shrugged. Jervis then responded, "I haven't requested a cell change. You must have the wrong fellow, sir," He turned back to his book.

"_Cell change_," repeated the officer.

Jervis glanced up a second time and frowned. "Look, you half-wit, I haven't requested a damn cell change so perhaps you are mistaken."

The officer shook his head and chuckled, mumbling something under his breath about too little pay. He pulled out a can of mace and a pair of handcuffs, holding them up for both inmates to see.

"Listen here, Mr. Tetch, I have orders I gotta' transport you to a new cell. You don' like it? We can do this the hard way." He jingled the cuffs.

Jervis gave a curt sigh and rolled his eyes, acting more like a rebellious teen then a convicted felon, and sidled off the edge of his bunk. He stood in front of the cell door and flicked his hair out of his eyes with his arms crossed. "Fine," he replied.

The officer unlocked the cell and grabbed hold of his arm, twisting it around his back and cuffing it to his other wrist with an upward jerk. Jervis let the man secure his wrists behind his back and snarled a bit when he was jabbed in the side. The officer pushed him through the door and slammed it shut then locked it with his free hand, the other remaining on Jervis's shoulder.

"Bye, Jervis," Arnold said.

"Don't fret now, Arnold," Jervis said. "You'll have a new cellmate soon."

"I was afraid of that…"

As the officer guided Jervis down the hall, he looked up at the man and asked, "So, where are you taking me? Right wing? Special containment? What have I done now?"

"Shut up," the officer answered.

"Now, now, I do have the right to know," Jervis retorted. The medication also made him very combative.

"Just shut up. I'm… I'm not takin' you to a new cell, ok?"

"Then where are you taking me? I demand to know where you're taking me, sir." Jervis gave a quick jerk but the officer held on tight.

"Just trust me," he said low.

They continued on until they approached an orderly standing guard next to the exit of the ward.

"Halt," the orderly said. "Where're you taking him?"

"I'm Officer Marcus Driver," Marcus said. He whipped out a gold badge and presented it to the orderly. "I have permission from a Doctor Jeremiah Arkham to take a Mr. Jervis A. Tetch into police custody. We have reason to believe that he may have some information about a cold case that's been re-opened. Our detectives need to question him down at the precinct."

"He's lying," Jervis said. "He's a _liar_."

"I might need to do some persuading," Marcus chuckled. "I have some paper work on me you can check, but I can assure you, we need 'em down there by mid-afternoon."

The orderly crossed his arms but smiled. "Naw, it's fine. Yeah… I think I remember Doctor Arkham talking about that." He scratched his head. "Well, anyway. Just make sure Doctor Arkham knows when he'll be back."

"Will do, Officer," Marcus said. He gave the orderly a salute. "Keep up the good work."

The guard smiled wide and laughed. "Hey, tou too, soldier, you too." He paused and glanced down the empty corridor. "You know, if he gets out of line don' be afraid ta just show 'em who's boss, you know what I mean? These crazies… sometimes ya' juss gotta let 'em know what's what." He punched his fist into an opened palm with a smack. "Just enough to let 'em know."

Marcus laughed and gave a nod while nudging Jervis towards the door. Jervis had other ideas, and fought back furiously, saying, "Oh, I'm sure he'll enjoy that, now won't he? You're all the bloody same, beastly animals!"

The orderly raised a brow while Marcus shook his head and they both laughed as if they had a secret with each other. Jervis struggled all the way out the door.

* * *

"Look straight ahead, please."

The infirmary was a cold and colorless room that occupied a small section outside the central corridor. It was a snug, large enough to accommodate a few inmates at a time, but despite its rather tight and tasteless appeal it was functional and provided the care of sick and injured patients with systematic results. Through the entryway were three beds that lined the left wall and a single sink jut out from the wall next over, along with a first aid station, a small refrigerator, a couple cabinets, and several fold-up chairs placed at the foot of each mattress. It also had four dim lamps, a 1950s style telephone, and a few manila folders set atop each nightstand, their contents containing important documentation for every inmate that needed attention. The doctor opened a new folder for Jonathan and clicked a ball-point pen. "Could you _please_ look straight ahead for me," he repeated and coughed.

Jonathan jumped in surprise and obeyed at once, peering forward with a vacant expression at the stark, white wall in front of him. The doctor shone a small flashlight across his eyes twice, making his pupils shrink and dilate as the light ebbed from his retinas. The doctor pulled back, jotting the results down, then pressed a cold hand to Jonathan's throat. Jonathan shivered from the man's touch and noticed his body shake from the cool air.

"Alright, please remove your shirt," the doctor ordered.

"Do I have to?" Jonathan asked.

"_Yes_," the doctor answered.

Jonathan shyly did as he was told, draping his shirt over a chair before sitting back down. His body trembled and his nipples stood erected from the ventilated air. He rubbed his arms, trying to create some kind of warmth, but the tiny shoots of downy fuzz prickled all over his body and he realized it was no use. He just didn't have enough body fat to keep him warm. He sighed, feeling not only cold but completely exposed. He cast his head down in shame while his teeth began to chatter. The doctor ignored him roughly inspected his throat, pressing and probing the area while Jonathan flinched. The doctor wrote his findings down in the manila folder then studied Jonathan's chest, poking his ribcage and sternum. "Well, nothing's broken," he said. "That's good."

"Good," Cash responded from across the room.

Jonathan looked up miserably then cast his head down once again.

"Welp, he looks alright. Nothing too serious. Just some bad bruising, maybe some minor sprains. I found nothing wrong with his sight and his teeth are all intact. He's lucky."

"Thank you, doc," Cash said.

The doctor turned and stepped towards the fridge and opened the freezer to grab a small packet of ice. He then turned to the bandage station and wrapped the ice in a layer of gauze. He turned back to Jonathan.

"Here. This should help with the swelling."

"Thank you," Jonathan said barley above a whisper.

"He can have the ice, right?" the doctor asked Cash.

"Yeah he can have it. He's stable." Cash replied.

"Good," the doctor said while exiting the room, "because some inmates…"

Aaron Cash eyed the door after the doctor had left, disgusted by the man's awful attitude, then stepped gave Jonathan a warm smile. "Alright, Crane. Put this back on." He handed over Jonathan's shirt. "Let's get you down to your new cell."

Jonathan stood up, wobbling at first but eventually finding his balance. He slipped on his shirt and held out his wrists, a painful look on his face while a few salty tears dribbled down his cheeks pathetically. Cash had never witnessed an inmate so emotional after a fight, so he gave Jonathan another small smile and said, "No… it's ok, Jon… that's not necessary."

Without a word, Jonathan dropped his wrists and turned towards the door, treading at a slow pace while Cash followed not two steps behind.

* * *

"Where are you taking me?!" Jervis cried. He thrashed against Officer Driver's grip. "I demand to know where you're taking me!"

Officer Driver tugged Jervis through the last hall before the main corridor. "Shut up!" he hissed low. "Just be quiet will you!"

They reached the doors leading to the central hall- the middle corridor that connected both wards- and came to a sudden halt. Officer Driver glanced over his shoulder to see an empty hall then swiftly yanked Jervis to the right, pushing him through an emergency exit that lead out to the prison's exterior grounds. The emergency exit didn't make any noise; someone had cut the wiring.

"Let me go!" Jervis yelled. "Help! Help!"

"Will you just shut the hell up?!" the larger man said and seized Jervis's collar. He towed Jervis along towards a gravel road and a shiny, four door, black Cadillac screeched to a stop in front of them, its old model and sleek style clearly not that of a standard GCPD escort car. Jervis's eyes widened and he struggled more against the officer's grasp, but the man gripped his shoulders and dragged him closer to the vehicle.

But with amazing force, Jervis wrenched himself away from the man's hold and dashed off, hollering "HELP ME, HELP!" He took two steps before Officer Driver snatched him and jerked him back.

With a giant heave, Officer Driver lifted Jervis clear off the ground and marched towards the car. As they neared, the passenger's door swung wide open, revealing three gruff men already inside. Jervis spotted the men and screamed, twisting against Officer Driver's chest and kicking the car door shut when his captor attempted to shove him inside.

The door opened once more and Jervis sailed another kick to close it, but a wet cloth seeped with chloroform suddenly covered his mouth, muffling his screams and sinking his central nervous system hard. He tried to fight but the chemical's sedating vapors made him dizzy and he stopped resisting altogether. Officer Driver pulled the cloth away from Jervis's face and placed him into the back, then took a quick glance around the barren road before hopping in himself. The door slammed shut with a loud thud as the ebony car speed off, leaving a billow of dust in its wake.

* * *

"Here we are," Cash said, motioning to room number five.

The Special containment area was a unit set away from the rest of Arkham Asylum and was specially enabled with concrete outer-rooms, single cell inner-rooms, acrylic Plexiglas walls positioned behind titanium alloy bars, and exclusive containment security. It was an area reserved for Arkham's larger, more unstable inmates, inmates who could not be trusted sharing a cell, such as Waylon Jones, aka Killer Croc, Victor Zsasz, aka Mr. Zsasz, and Bane. It also housed certain inmates who needed individual attention, such as Victor Freeze, aka Mr. Freeze, and criminals who could easily escape, such as Matt Hagen, aka Clayface. In short: it was not a place Jonathan wanted to be. He gulped as he scanned each title card displayed next to the numbered doors, intimidated by the names he read and wishing he could stop shaking.

"Ok, Crane. Here you go. Now remember, this is just temporary," Cash said while unlocking the titanium metal bars. "I'll talk to Doctor Arkham tomorrow about where to place you next." He swiped his security card, opening the acrylic inner wall. "In the meantime, you just stay put and relax, ok?"

Jonathan stared at the lonely cell, panic-stricken at the thought of being left entirely to himself in such claustrophobic conditions. Cash took his arm and guided him into the room, shutting the Plexiglas door behind the man then locking the alloy bars. Cash turned around to leave but stopped when he heard Jonathan's voice.

"What about my therapy? Doctor Leland wanted to see me today." He stuck the lower part of his face through one of the Plexiglas's baseball sized air holes.

"Oh yeah, Doctor Leland heard about…" Cash started, but then continued, "Well, she said no therapy today. She just wants you to relax and just… just relax. Just sit down and relax, Crane."

Jonathan whimpered and bit his lip as Mr. Cash left. He glanced at the coverless cot to his left then at the topless toilet to his right. He didn't know what to do with himself. Feeling sore, he stepped towards the cot, planning to lie down and nurse his wounds with the ice packet, but the sight of old urine and grimy spots swayed his actions, so instead he opted to sit in a corner and cry.

* * *

"Hey. _Hey_."

Jonathan awoke with a jolt.

"Jonathan Crane?" asked a stout man wearing a GCPD uniform. "I'm here to take you to the hospital." He unlocked the door and swiped a security card, opening the Plexiglas casing surrounding the inner-cell. Jonathan rubbed his eyes, unsure of where he was or how he got there. Was he… _wait, where was Jervis? _

"Come on, Mr. Crane… you need medical attention," the man said. "We need to get you to a hospital. Your injuries could be serious."

"I-I already went to the infirmary," Jonathan replied.

His mind felt sluggish but he was gradually beginning to come around as he stood from his corner, his spindly hands clutching the rusted sink for support. The officer appeared by his side and took his arms, relieving him of his balance. The man cuffed Jonathan and tried to escort him through the doorway.

"Hey. W-what's going on?" Jonathan asked. It seemed like there was a foggy film covering his memories, and he suddenly coughed. Maybe he _did_ need medical attention. He could barely see straight, and his head hurt.

"Don't worry about it, the cuffs are just precautionary," the man told him.

Jonathan was loosely pulled in the direction of the opened door. He followed without question, head whirling as he stumbled over his own feet. The officer helped him stagger through the special containment area, down the right wing hallway, and out to the main corridor with not a single person in their path to question them.

"What time is it?" Jonathan asked as he looked up to the sky. "It's so dark."

"It's four a.m.," the strange man replied.

Jonathan sniffed and thought,_ well, no wonder I'm not awake, it's four o'clock in the morning_. His medication kept him knocked out during the night. But wait. _Four in the morning? What? Why is it so cold?_

"Hey, why are we outside?" Jonathan said, shivering from the autumn chill.

"I told you, I'm taking you to the hospital," the man replied while opening a black car door.

_Where did the car come from? _"It's four in the morning?" Jonathan asked. _God, this medication is horrible…_

"Yes," the man answered.

"Wait, you're taking me to the hospital at four… in the morning?" Jonathan asked. He wiped at the dried drool on his cheek. "Why can't we wait?"

"Mr. Crane, you might have a concussion, please take a seat inside the vehicle."

"Oh. Oh, I see. Ok."

The officer pushed Jonathan into the car and shut the door, then slipped into the front seat and signaled to the driver. Jonathan looked around in a daze and realized the interior of the vehicle appeared nothing like a squadron car, which he had seen many times before… it didn't have a caged barrier between the driver and the arrested, nor did it have a police issued radio occupying the dash. It didn't even have a cheap cup of coffee or a stale donut stuffed in the front cup holder… it was just… ordinary, but fancy-like.

"Hey," spoke a low voice to his left.

As Jonathan turned, pondering why he hadn't notice the man sitting next to him, a strong hand gripped the back of his skull and pressed a soaked cloth to his mouth. His eyes widened in sudden bewilderment then fluttered as he breathed. Everything went black.


	15. Sweet Dream Reunion

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Sweet Dream Reunion  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 2,947  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan awakens. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited. Changed the title.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Sweet Dream Reunion**

Eyes fluttered like butterfly wings and his head throbbed. The dim lighting caressed the backdrop, tall windows, a silhouette loomed over him. He felt… surreal. A cold towel pressed against his fevered forehead, soothing the vibrant, aching thump inside his skull, and he bent up into the dampened fabric while testing his sight, but even the small amount of strength it took to open his eyelids proved too difficult a task. The light, though dim, shown too brightly and provoked his headache, so he kept his eyes closed and listened. He could barely comprehend the calm voice that tunneled its way through his ear canal; its familiar nature both assuring and compassionate at the same time.

"There, there… You'll be… Just relax… I've missed… love…"

His senses heightened and he trembled like a newborn pup as a soft hand stroked his face, a gentle gesture he'd not been privileged to in a long time. He breathed and the smell of cardamom, tobacco, cinnamon, and a touch of citrus filled his nostrils. He felt safe, protected, and treasured as the touch washed over him to alleviate his pain. He squinted, cringing as the light seeped through his lashes, then eased as the figure kissed his dry lips. Without objection his eyelids slipped shut again, sweeping him back into a world of darkness.

The kiss was delicate, chaste and charming, a treat not often indulged by the two odd lovers but a pleasure equally adored by both. Their tongues came out of hiding to meet and greet as they sought after each other's bodies. Soon both sets of hands wandered at a frantic pace and primal forces drove them onward until Jonathan hissed in sudden pain. He clutched at his side.

"Oh, Jonathan, forgive me!" Jervis said. "Oh, look what I've done now."

Jonathan attempted to open his eyes and answer Jervis face to face, but the light persisted and made him jerk in pain. He groaned as he held a palm over his forehead to conceal his eyes. Oh, _Jesus_, he felt like utter shit. He collapsing back onto whatever it was they were resting on.

"Jonathan, are you alright?" Jervis asked. "Oh, the lights! I'll shut them off, dear, hold on."

Jonathan could find no reason to disagree with the command so he lied motionless with a long arm stretched over his face. Jervis scurried about to turn off all the lighting fixtures in the room. With a few clicks the area went completely black, save for the moon's beautiful radiance shining through the tall window pane on each opposing wall. Jonathan sighed and opened his eyes, smiling as the night's darkness pacified his relentless headache.

"God, where are we?" Jonathan asked as Jervis nuzzled close.

"Gotham Central Park," Jervis replied.

Jonathan mulled over their current whereabouts but stopped as he felt Jervis massage his inner thigh, a deliberate approach to get his undivided attention. Jervis wanted to be known and he wanted to be known _now_. Jonathan growled and shimmed away, an effort to reclaim some space, but Jervis followed.

"Do you _mind_?" Jonathan snapped. "Christ!"

Surprisingly, Jervis drew back, giving Jonathan ample space and thus a clear mind in which to think. What the hell happened? How did he end up here? Oh god… the fight. He reached up and touched his face, wincing as he grazed the giant bulging puff that was supposed to be his left eye. Great, he already had one black eye- courtesy of the righteous Batman- but now he had two, thanks to Edward Nigma. Just great.

"Are you alright?" Jervis asked again.

Jonathan paused, unsure of how to respond. There were questions that needed to be answered first and if he wasn't direct Jervis would avoid them entirely. "What the hell are you doing here? And where are we? What happened?"

"One thing at a time," Jervis said. He settled down on the mattress with his legs crossed. "First off, you're at Gotham Central Park. Second, I'm here because… well, I'm not sure yet. I'm not sure why either of us is here."

"That doesn't explain much," Jonathan said. He coughed into his fist and gave Jervis a nasty glare.

Jervis's face glowed from the moon's light, taking on an eerie appearance. "There's not much to explain," he answered. His eyes were like two black coals, dead.

Jonathan eyed him. The man looked haggard, as if he hadn't slept in days, and his body language was weird, as if he were someone else. Jonathan bit his lip and flinched as he realized that it too was swollen. He knew he looked awful, but then again Jervis didn't look so hot either. "Where are we?" he asked again.

"I fucking told you," Jervis said. "We're at Gotham-Central-_fucking_-Park. Do you need me to spell it out for you?"

Jonathan recoiled in shock. For whatever reason, Jervis was pissed, but just a moment ago he'd been raging like a beast in heat for Jonathan's touch. Jervis exhaled a long sigh and paused. He brushed back his shaggy, blonde hair and rubbed his face as if frustrated by some unseen force.

"They sprung us," he supplied at last, "Someone somehow duped the guards and the facility's amazing security monitoring system and helped us escape. That part I know. The rest is but tea and haberdashery to me."

"Who?" Jonathan asked aloud.

The next moment was sudden and shocking, like a volcano spewing forth hot lava and flames.

"I TOLD YOU I DON'T KNOW!" Jervis yelled. "I AM COMPLETELY UNAWARE OF WHO _THEY_ ARE, JONATHAN, UTTERLY CLUELESS!"

Jonathan raised his hands up to shield his face, gulping back the shallow breath lodged in his throat. Jervis was volatile, aggressive, and extremely combative, which wasn't completely foreign behavior to Jonathan, but was definitely extreme. Jonathan was used to seeing Jervis sit up straight and drink tea like a sophisticated aristocrat or something, not explode into a tantrum of juvenile temperament. It was not like him. Not like him at all.

"Ok," Jonathan said. "Ok, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"_Oh_, you didn't mean to _upset me_! All is forgiven then, your _highness_!" Jervis was standing tall on the mattress, looming over the other man and waving his hands about. "I do apologize, your _Excellency_, for not being PROPERLY INFORMED OF YOUR INTENT!"

Jonathan flinched, drawing his hands up into fists. He was ready to defend himself, and although he didn't want to harm Jervis, he didn't want to be pummeled again either.

"Are you going to hit me?" Jervis asked, face shaded by the gloom. "Are you actually going to _hit me_?"

Jonathan shook and he hooked his forearms up against his chest, using them as armor in case of attack. He couldn't believe it but in that moment he was honestly afraid of Jervis. The blonde man's anger charged out like an angry bull. Jonathan shut his eyes and waited for a blow or a kick, something to send him into pain, but nothing came. He looked and through the dark veil of night he could see his former lover slouch.

"You're not worth the hassle," Jervis finally said and jumped out of sight.

Jonathan watched for any signs of movement, listening for the soft pitter patter of little feet or the low intake of rapid breath indicative to his blonde companion, when all of a sudden a light emitted from the right side of the room to blind him. He shielded his eyes but couldn't stand the ache, so he shut them tight and rubbed with the balls of his fists, all the while groaning nauseously. Before he could recover there was another loud clack from off to his left, and a second stream of light came to torture him. In addition to the first two switches came three more, each one following the latter until the entire room was re-lit, illuminating the vastly high walls and lofty, hollowed ceiling.

A few minutes and Jonathan forced his eyes to open. He blinked, looking fairly dim-witted, what with his mouth agape and his neck craning forward, but at long last he regained composure and settled into his typical, tight-assed expression. "Now you see here, Tetch-" he started.

"I TOLD YOU MY NAME IS JERVIS! JERVIS! JERVIS! _JERVIS_!" Jervis grabbed his hair and yanked it wildly in different directions.

Jonathan held his ground, biting his lip. He sat up straight and tried to look strong.

"Don't yell at me," he said. "You got that?"

Unfortunately, his reprimand went unheard. Jervis sucked in a huge breath and let out a piercing howl, terrifying not only Jonathan but a dozen lingering crows. They cawed and shot off into the darkness, creating a rush of noise that descended upon the spacious room like echoes in a cavern. All went quiet save for Jervis's heavy panting. Jonathan simply stared.

"I'll do whatever I please _you ugly tart_!"

Jonathan's mouth dropped and his expression quickly flashed from offended to livid in less than a second. "How dare you," he said. "How fucking _dare_ you!"

"I'LL SAY WHATEVER I WANT!"

That was it. Jonathan stormed towards Jervis with shaking fists, grinding his teeth in anger. He had no time for disrespectful bullshit; Jervis was acting like a child, and if he wanted to act like a child then he would be treated as such… he'd get a good slap up the face is what he would get. As Jonathan neared, Jervis did something uncharacteristic, something crude and completely vulgar, a gesture he himself would have frowned upon had he resembled his normal self; he flipped Jonathan the middle finger.

Jonathan, maddened by the action, lunged at Jervis whilst envisioning himself snapping that little piss-ant appendage in two. Jervis swiveled on his heel and dashed away from Jonathan's dive, short legs racing for the exit as fast as they could. He reached the heavy metal door and grabbed the handle, pulling it with every bit of strength his small body could muster. It moved a bit and he slipped his fingers through the opened gap, but before he could give it another pull, Jonathan raised a leg up and thrust it down upon the door's midsection, unknowingly slamming it on Jervis's fingers. Jervis wailed as tears sprung to his eyes.

Jonathan, still clueless as to what he'd done, smirked and gripped the man's shirt. "Thought you could get away from me, you rude little shit?" He gripped the man's hair and yanked, twisting the fine, golden locks into a tangle.

Jervis let out a scream and said, "Jonathan! Open the door! My fingers!"

Jonathan came to a halt, suddenly scared. He opened the door and let Jervis slip his hand out. A large, rouge cut split the skin on each finger between the first and second knuckle of the man's hand; it was enough to need stitching. Jervis cried, his tears spilling to the floor, while Jonathan stood ashamed. Jonathan took in a shaky breath and decided to beat himself up later, opting instead to kneel down and take Jervis into his arms. The other man fell into his embrace and cried into the crook of his shoulder. Jonathan cringed at the feeling but comforted the other man with as much tolerance as humanly possible, which was amazingly tender for someone so often detached.

Jervis went on crying but eventually stopped and Jonathan took his uninjured hand and guided him towards the small, circular table next to the wall. Not a word was spoken whilst the two resigned their quarrel, and though they sat in the dimly lit atmosphere of a place entirely foreign they nevertheless welcomed each other's company.

Fortunately, Jonathan had retained some medical expertise from college, and thus was able to stitch Jervis's wound with the first aid kit on the table. Jervis whined but for the most part kept still, deciding to try and make small talk instead of enduring the awkward silence.

"Thank you," he whispered to Jonathan.

"You're welcome," Jonathan replied with a small smile.

Jonathan tied the last stitch and inspected his handiwork, nodding his head at what he felt was a job well done. He then began to dress the wound, spraying it with a bottled antiseptic and wrapping it with some gauze, then fastening the end with medical tape. "You alright?" he asked. He hoped Jervis would forgive him.

Jervis kept his head down. "I am now," he said.

Jonathan smiled in relief and motioned for Jervis to follow him towards the mattress. After the lights were shut off, Jervis slipped underneath the sheets next to his companion. Jonathan wrapped his long arms around the other man and closed his eyes, his mind not yet ready to sleep but his body exhausted.

"Jonathan?" Jervis whispered.

"Yes?" Jonathan replied.

"I don't really think you're ugly. I think you're handsome."

Jonathan said nothing, preferring instead to plant a gentle kiss upon Jervis's forehead. In the darkness he blushed and inwardly relished in the fact that someone thought he was beautiful.

* * *

Insomnia. Even his medication couldn't halt the racing stream of fragmented thoughts from running through his brain, pillaging and rummaging until sleep was a feat beyond reachable. For Jonathan Crane, sleep had never come easy. He was constantly thinking and the voices were forever talking; the words looped within his head until after days of sleepless torture he finally collapsed. Sleep was an escape from insanity, nothing short of paradise, but it was a joy that often eluded him, and that was why he lay awake wide-eyed next to Jervis, fixed upon the man's repetitious breath in the dark.

It was amazing how easily Jervis could sleep, and Jonathan often found himself jealous. Suddenly he found himself missing Scarecrow.

Scarecrow.

Jonathan curled against his blonde companion, tucking his head into the crook of the man's shoulder. Scarecrow was the closest thing resembling a friend Jonathan had ever had. Without him Jonathan felt scared and alone. Scarecrow had taught him never to fear… for fear was useless when terror was within, a personage fierce to reckon with. Scarecrow had also told him that if anyone were to ever harm him they would know an utmost horror that stretched beyond comprehension. Scarecrow, in every sense, took care of him. Nurtured him; helped him grow… protected him.

He could remember long nights of studying with Scarecrow's gentle words of praise in the back of his mind, and could recall many a time when his inseparable friend would comfort him in the middle of the night, emerging within his dreams… making him feel such emotions as love and happiness, sensations he had been starved of for years.

But the two had grown distant within the last few months, what with Arkham's treatments and Jervis's… interference… but every time Jonathan's medication snuffed Scarecrow out it awakened renewed feelings of desire and need within. He'd been so empty since Scarecrow's absence and so very lonesome... "Jervis," he whispered.

Jervis remained asleep.

Jonathan licked his lips, embarrassed. "Jervis," he whispered again.

Jervis's breath hitched as he awoke. "Hm?" he asked.

"Touch me," Jonathan said.

If Jervis wasn't awake before, he certainly became so then. The darkness clouded them both, but Jervis's eyes were always alight. "What?" he asked.

Jonathan shifted, but didn't answer. It was a sore topic, them and their intimacies. Oh sure they _fucked_, but the sensation of touch was always restrained on Jonathan's part, and he kept Jervis's hands at bay.

After another moment with no reply, Jervis decided to ask again. "What did you say?"

Jonathan paused. "I said touch me." He inwardly cringed.

Jervis was on him in less than a second, kissing a stroking and all the things Jonathan was absolutely abhorred by. Though he had initiated it he couldn't take the closeness, so he moved to get away.

Jervis followed on his hands and knees. "Playing hard to get, are we?" He purred and kept coming.

"_Stop_," Jonathan replied.

Jervis came to a halt. "Stop? I don't understand. I thought… I thought you _wanted_ me."

_I do but I don't_. _"_I don't like it." _I hate wanting you but I love having you. "_I don't like it at all."

Jervis let out an exasperated sigh. He looked pissed but then his frown slipped into a smile. "Talk to me then. Tell me what you _do_ like."

Jonathan hesitated at first, but when Jervis gave him another loving smile he took the man's hands and placed them on his chest. Jervis understood the hint and somehow his smile got bigger. Slow was best. Slow and steady always won the race. They kissed and fondled, caressing each other gently, but when Jervis prodded elsewhere, sticking his fingers in places they weren't welcome, the suggestion became clear, and Jonathan grabbed the man's arm in a vice-like grip. "No," he said.

Jervis leaned back, taking his fingers along with him. He was about to turn away, but Jonathan's arms flew around him and held him close. "I still want you," Jonathan said.

They spent the night going slow, letting the calm take them over. There was no rush, no need to claw or gasp, only endless time. Eventually they lay spent, but unlike in the days before they cuddled close, both smiling and breathing soundly.

"Jonathan?" Jervis asked as he ran his finger over Jonathan's shoulder.

"Mm?" Jonathan hummed in reply.

"Sweet dreams."

It didn't take long before Jonathan fell into a deep and peaceful sleep, but before he left the world he latched onto the systematic sound of Jervis's lungs expand and contract, feeling eased by the assured next inhale of breath.


	16. The Job

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: The Job  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 4,303  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Carmine Falcone  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: Heavy R  
Summary: Jonathan and Jervis are given a job. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**The Job**

"_Jonathan_…"

The vast field of corn stretched on for miles, its brilliant yellow stalks growing high, reaching up towards the clear blue like extending hands. The sky looked crystal clear and the hot sun beat down upon the enriched land, nourishing it. A bead of sweat dripped down from his brow and found a home nuzzled within the crook of his lips, only to be licked away. He wiped his face with a long, scrawny arm. It was so hot…

"_Jonathan_…"

He swiveled and peered out towards the old barn. It was rickety, and its presence felt tarnished as it hung in the atmosphere, staining the crisp, glowing day. The barn was chilling, like a scene found in a child's nightmare, but its magnetism captivated him so he walked onward with a steady stride. He had no choice. It summoned him, beckoned to him, as if it were a lighthouse and he were a ship lost at sea.

"_Jonathan_…"

He was so terrified of that voice he could have pissed himself, but his pace remained steady as he neared his destination. As he took the final steps towards the old farmhouse he readied himself for what lay within. Slowly, he opened the sliding door, hesitating for a moment until his presence was drawn inside. There, darkness enveloped him as searing eyes glared down from above.

He shrank back in senseless fear as the figure called down to him from the creaking rafters, sorrow and confusion laced in every word, "_Why do you keep me in here, Jonathan_?"

* * *

His eyes shot open. The barn was gone, vanished away as he came back to consciousness. He breathed heavily, his mind repeating the awful sound of Scarecrow's voice. It surged through him as the creature wept. Scarecrow had been banished to the barn.

Jonathan gulped as he thought of his companion's plight; he knew Scarecrow hated to be caged back in the dusty crevasses of his subconscious mind. He closed his eyes and brought a shaking hand to his forehead, shifting to his side in search of a more comfortable position. Jervis stirred next to him, mumbling incoherencies before drifting back to sleep again, snuggling closer to his chest while gripping the flimsy blanket that draped both their forms in his two small palms. Jonathan smiled as he realized for the first time in weeks he wasn't sleeping alone; it had been a few months since he'd had the luxury. Forgetting himself completely, he wrapped his arm around Jervis and held him close, relishing in the other man's warmth and flesh as he'd never done before. Though he ached from the beating he'd received at Arkham, he couldn't have been more at ease as he ran his bony hand threw Jervis's thick blonde hair.

"Ah, Mr. Crane, I see you're finally awake."

Jonathan shot upward, his eyes practically bugging out of his skull. He'd completely forgotten his surroundings. He'd been too lost in thought over Scarecrow and admittedly weakened by the sudden rush of emotions Jervis's presence brought to be on any kind of defense. It all came tumbling back, Arkham, the pills, their unexpected escape, the shiny black car, the night before… As that last thought resurfaced he instantly gripped the blanket up to his chest, shamefully aware of how naked he was.

In the dim lighting he searched for the voice's owner, at last catching the man's eyes and noting with growing concern the power behind them, that and the three jagged scars slit across his right cheek. The man wore a black business suit with a maroon colored tie, it being held around his neck in a perfect Windsor knot. His hair was stark white but the pencil thin mustache beneath his broad nose was jet black, matching his sleek eyebrows in a distinguished fashion. He looked Italian, not that Jonathan had any experience differentiating ethnicity, but something about the strange man's olive skin and his distinct profile made him seem just so. Jonathan's throat was like a desert, he was so shocked at being caught off guard that he continued to stare, even as the man's uninterested expression vanished into a more irritable one.

"You have five minutes to dress," he said. "Meet me and my men on the second level, up the stairs, where the large smoke stack stands."

It took only a moment more for Jonathan to assess the situation, and with a sharp jerk he nodded his head once. The scarred man accepted the brief nod and rose to leave, lighting an expensive cigarette while walking toward the exit. Before he reached the door he turned, smoke exhaling from his mouth as he casually added, "If you are not both atop those steps in five minutes my men will drag you there, clothed or not." And with that he slipped through the heavy door, his calm threat lingering with the swirling smoke in the stale air of the shadowy room.

Jonathan stared after the man, stunned. Had that really just happened? He blinked; his brows creasing as he slowly shifted his gaze to Jervis. His companion lay quietly sleeping, undisturbed, without a care in the world. Jonathan blinked again, the scarred man's warning replaying in his mind.

"Shit!" he said. He struggled for breath as he leapt from the bed, but not before quickly jabbing Jervis in the gut with his stiletto elbow. Jervis rolled over and whined softly, pulling up the covers over his head.

"Jervis, get up _now_," Jonathan barked as he fought with his Arkham shirt. He was finally able to get his head and arms through the correct holes. He stumbled into his matching set of sky blue pants while snatching up Jervis's clothes, throwing them at the blonde man as he sat up slowly. They landed atop his flaxen head, covering his face as he yawned loud.

"Mm," Jervis said and smacked his lips. "What's going on, love?"

"No time. Can't explain."

"That's an incomplete sentence, you know," Jervis mocked.

"Jervis, get your clothes on, _now_," Jonathan said. He hurried over to his companion and seized the outfit off the man's lap. As he bunched up the flimsy fabric, readying the shirt to be placed over Jervis's head, Jervis tactfully shot out a hand and grabbed his crotch, squeezing purposefully. Jonathan's breathe hitched at the action, being caught off guard yet again and noticeably angered by the fact. "Jervis. Goddamnit!" he said. "We don't have time for your antics right now!"

Jervis' mouth curved upward into a fat grin. "There is always time for my antics, dearest," he said with a soft purr, cupping Jonathan's testicles through his pants.

Jonathan grabbed the smaller man's wrist and forced him to hold it up over his head along with his other arm. Jervis snorted as Jonathan forced his limbs through their respective holes, letting out a loud laugh as he noticed his partner's annoyance.

"Oh, Jonathan, do lighten-"

"Jervis, we have _company_," Jonathan interrupted. "Why don't you get your pants _on_ and we can meet them?" He strained, his jaw tense as he peered over his shoulder at his squat admirer.

At that Jervis became the picture of concern and focus, slipping his pants on quick as a rabbit. He hopped of the bed and attempted to tame his unruly mane, murmuring to himself how awful he must have looked, as Jonathan, thankful of Jervis's cooperation, took the man's hand securely while pondering to himself why he didn't just grab Jervis's wrist and drag him along, pants or no. Jonathan dismissed the thought as unimportant and they both exited the room.

Through the metal doorway was a long, railed stairwell leading skyward. They took the only route in front of them and ascended the seemingly endless pile of stairs one by one, traveling from the basement of the facility, which doubled as the first floor for some ridiculous reason, to the second level of the building. Their destination lay in the center of the structure, where the old Quaker meeting house still stood amid the modern walls enclosing it.

The antique dwelling was built in the late 1600s, it being one of the earliest known landmarks in Gotham. Intending to be a place of peace and simplicity for the townsfolk that constructed it, the house was erected with a cozy atmosphere, a large smoke stack supplying the means for fires and warmth. Unfortunately, most of the brick had eroded away by time, and so half the original walls and fireplace still remained. The people of Gotham thought not to rebuild what was gone, instead opting to raise another building around the residence, one metal in place of brick. Along with the idea to preserve the smaller house within a larger one, the people of Gotham decided to add several long corridors stretching the length of the outer building, that way every person in Gotham could look upon a piece of their history without actually stepping foot inside.

Though the city's Gothamites decided not to rebuild the Quaker house, they did however decide to renovate the impressive chimney into something more, restoring not only the fireplace in all its glory, but surpassing the original design to make a large, brick smoke stack as the vent.

It was like a museum of sorts, and Jonathan knew it well, having taken time from his early, dreary, and fruitless career to spend days walking its passages. That was so very long ago, and he hadn't been to the area since his first incarceration at Arkham. The nooks hadn't changed but the feeling of it certainly had.

As Jervis and he breeched the vaulted entrance of the old home, Jonathan promptly scrutinized the four men scattered about the den. He recognized one man in particular as being from Arkham, or at least serving there for some extent of time before entering the GCPD. From there he surmised at once the cop had probably gone dirty, corruption providing a more generous salary then the man's annual wage no doubt. But it wasn't the crooked cop that put Jonathan's disposition in a grim way; it was the three others that fought for his attention.

One appeared rough on the outside, undeniably a thug, physically hardened unlike the other two. His face spoke the awful truths of the world; it showed remorselessness and depravity. The man caught Jonathan's glimpse and smiled, presenting a row of twisted, yellow teeth. Jonathan didn't so much as bat an eyelash. Instead he browsed over the second man, regarding him as swiftly as he did the first. The man was sinewy, not skinny like Jonathan, but wiry with muscle; a sharp beak like nose jutted out from his haggard face. Pasted beneath it lay a perfect, pencil styled mustache, so flawless it seemed like it'd been drawn on with a quill. The man's eyes darted around the room shiftily, acknowledging Jonathan with a narrow squint. The third man was short, perhaps a foot taller than Jervis. He was heavy and homely with a big gut protruding past his black, leather belt. There was something about him Jonathan didn't like. He didn't look as formidable as the first two, but he came across as the type of man who took immense pleasure in the suffering of others, especially his enemies.

Jonathan stood tall and stepped forward, letting his hand slip away from Jervis's. It wasn't wise to broadcast their little liaison; these swine would surely use it to their advantage, and Jonathan wasn't about to put himself or Jervis in that situation.

"So, I did good?" the corrupt cop asked to no one in particular.

Before one of the three men could react an unseen voice answered him. "We'll see… in good time," it said.

Jonathan followed the voice to find it belonged to the same scarred man that intruded upon him and Jervis on the first floor. The nameless man leaned against the far corner looking down at his watch, his face unreadable.

"Four minutes, forty-two seconds, gentlemen." He clapped once, his face remained expressionless.

Jervis looked up at Jonathan, his brow raised in question. Jonathan chose to ignore him, concentrating instead on the situation at hand. He took another half-step forward. "Who are-"

"So when do I get my money?" the dirty cop interrupted.

The scarred man directed his eerie gaze at the cop. "The money we negotiated will be immediately transferred to your account, no questions asked." He lit up another one of his cigarette. "I no longer have need of your services." He motioned a dismissal and one of his men, the thug with the twisted teeth, curved his head toward the arched door. The officer obliged him, looking surely relieved.

They stepped past the two escaped inmates and out from whence they came. Jervis's eyes trailed after them, but Jonathan remained vigilant and attentive. He watched who he knew to be the boss of this little assembly ever so carefully.

"Now then." The scarred man smiled while he snuffed out his newly lit cigarette. "To business, my good gentlemen." He spread his arms wide in gesture.

"Who -" Jonathan started.

"_Who are you_?" Jervis interrupted snobbishly, stepping out in front of Jonathan.

Jonathan's eyes widened at his companion's boldness and he stepped forward beside Jervis, taking the blonde man's upper arm in his hand.

"You'll learn to hold your _shit-eating tongue_, you fucking _freak_," came the harsh reply, not from the scarred man but from the tall, wiry lout standing in the middle of the room. "You don't ask the fucking questions here."

Jonathan instinctively yanked Jervis behind him, holding the shorter man's bicep firmly to keep him out of harm's way. Jonathan's heart was pounding in his chest but he readied himself, curling the long fingers of his free hand up into a fist. Before the next event could transpire, the scarred man stepped out into the center of the room and raised his open palm.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," he spoke peacefully, "must we behave like beasts? I've had enough of that, Amelio." He looked at the second thug and the man backed down, grumbling something Italian under his breath.

Jonathan eased up on Jervis's arm but held the man back. He didn't like these thugs one bit, and he certainly didn't trust the scarred man in all his swagger.

"Here, here, I agree. Try to be more of a _gentleman_, Amelio," Jervis said, his voice haughty behind Jonathan. "Ghastly _brute_."

Jonathan twisted his neck around and stared daggers at Jervis, tightening his grip on the man's arm once again. Laughter erupted and Jonathan almost shit himself from the unexpected sound.

The scarred man shook his head and laughed once more, showing a row of perfect white teeth, as white as his hair. "A fierce man." His smile was big but soon it started to fade. "You should be thankful you have someone to counter that imbalance."

"Our apologies," Jonathan said at once. "He meant nothing by it."

"No, no, no, _my_ apologies," the scarred man said. He lit up another cigarette. "Amelio has no tact."

Jonathan let a small smile grab the corners of his lips, but the rest of him remained stiff. He noticed the scarred man's posse staring at Jervis so he pulled his partner closer to his backside, towering in front of him like a giant shield.

"Let me introduce myself," the scarred man said politely, "lest your little friend say something of greater foolishness." He eyed Jervis. "I am Carmine Falcone. You might know me as the roman, for this city is like my empire. But it's _Mr_. Falcone to you."

Jonathan certainly did know this man. More like know _of_ him. Carmine Falcone was a name whispered among many, from rogues and gangs alike. He was one of the commanding chieftains of the Gotham Italian Mafia, possibly the most powerful and influential of them all. Jonathan had heard several stories regarding the man's control over Gotham, the police force, even over other rogues. And still, with all the knowledge he possessed of the scarred man, he could not believe that the actual _Carmine Falcone_ stood before him and Jervis, speaking of business. Jonathan swallowed hard, praying to whatever deity who'd listen that Jervis kept his snide comments to himself.

"As I was saying, if we can possibly continue?" Falcone directed the question at Jervis, his face appearing in honest question.

Jervis said nothing, and Jonathan thought if they both actually got through this unpleasantness he might start believing in god.

"Excellent." Falcone smiled, his charisma flashing. "Now then gentlemen, to our business, and the reason for your early release from Arkham."

Jonathan nodded and waited, paying full attention.

"It involves the Gotham City bank depository. You see, I've encountered a bit of a… hm, what would you call it, a financial _setback_, and I want it corrected. I want the funds that've been stolen from me replaced." He peered at Jonathan. "I trust you're familiar with _the Batman_?"

Jonathan almost burst out laughing but he knew the question was clearly for show. Falcone knew everything so the point in answering was moot.

"He has taken from me a large sum of money," Falcone said, "my earned money might I add. He is a nuisance, and has become a pain in my side."

"Just let him punch you in the stomach," Jervis whispered. "Then you'll have a real pain in your side…"

Jonathan slapped him lightly in the face without looking.

"So this is where you both come in." Falcone paced about the room adamantly. "I need you to infiltrate the Gotham City bank and take back those funds that I've lost." He stuck up his fist and clenched it. "And then all will be right with the world."

Jonathan paused, not knowing if speaking up would cost him his life or grant him amenity. "So… is that the only task you need carried out?" he asked carefully.

"Yes, that's it," Falcone responded.

Jonathan internally sighed and pressed further. "And… what cut, per say, do we get of these funds?"

"Ah!" Falcone said, pointing up his finger excitedly. "Now we're talking business!"

Jonathan forced himself to grin, but inside his heart thumped hard from the sudden response.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, my… _unique_ friends." Falcone stepped closer as he spoke, glancing at Jervis as he enunciated the word unique. "Your payment for helping me in this is a generous, generous twenty percent." He smiled and put his hands on both of Jonathan's shoulders.

"Pft, _thirty_ percent," Jervis said carelessly.

Jonathan froze as Falcone's face strained. The man took his hands away from Jonathan's shoulders and clasped them together under his lips, almost in contemplation. He stared into Jonathan's eyes. It was all Jonathan could do not to fall apart in that bleak moment. Falcone made a 'tsk' sound with and smiled wide. "Your lover is right, thirty percent it is." Behind Falcone the two lingering thugs sniggered to each other. Jonathan felt his face redden in embarrassment.

"Hah, _lover_." The fat thug pronounced the word hideously under his breath to the others.

"Does this satisfy you, our fierce, little man?" Falcone smirked as he stepped back and bent jokingly to meet eyes with Jervis, as if Jervis were a child to be appeased.

Jervis said nothing, standing as tall as he could behind Jonathan.

"This is very fair," Jonathan said after the tension had lapsed. His face was still red. "But we'll need some minor things before we can carry out the job."

"Of course, of course," Falcone said. "Whatever your needs are we can provide." He motioned for Jonathan to continue.

"I'll need certain chemicals. The last that remained of my fear gas has been used or confiscated. We'll need our outfits, too. We'll also need a bit of time to come up with-"

"That's already been taken care of," Falcone interrupted confidently. "All the plans will be set in motion on Independence day, which, if you have no grasp of time, is in a week."

"What's the-" Jonathan started.

"All that in good time, I assure you. One of my men will brief you on the subject before tomorrow is out, and he'll also provide you with the things you need. From there you'll have enough time to ready yourselves." Falcone yawned, covering his mouth with his big hand. "I have other appointments to attend, so without further a due I must take my leave."

Jonathan didn't know what to say. There was obviously nothing more he _could_ say, so he nodded and stepped aside, gently pushing Jervis back along with him. Jervis backpedaled behind him and stayed silent, truly a godsend. As the men approached the exit, Falcone turned and stopped to stare straight at Jonathan, his men halting behind him.

"Oh, and one more thing you need to know," the roman said. His expression was deadly. "I don't care about your needs. I don't care about your wants. I don't care about your significant other. I don't care about your family, and I don't care about your friends. I don't care about _you_." He was cold, like icy marble. "So don't _fuck this up_."

Jonathan had no reply- not that he had a chance to give one. Falcone and his men brusquely turned away and exited the room. They slipped into shadows, one by one. Jonathan stood still as a statue, listening to the sound of their footsteps descending the stairwell, growing fainter with each step.

"Assholes," Jervis said.

Jonathan jerked in surprise at the comment. He let out a big sigh as he realized the danger was gone. They were alone. "You are so _reckless_," he said in response, clutching at his stomach. He lurched towards an old wooden chair and plopped down. The chair was so old he half expected it to buckle and break under his scant weight. Leaning an elbow on the edge of the wooden table he heaved another shaking sigh of relief, his forehead landing against his open palm with a light smack.

Jervis remained were he stood, eyeing the empty doorway. He appeared distant and his mouth set into a serious frown. After another few moments he turned and looked at Jonathan. "Fucking assholes, the lot of them," he finally said with disgust. "Twenty percent my ass, we're the ones who'll be doing all of the work. We're the ones who'll be taking the risk."

"You know it doesn't work like that..." Jonathan shot back, irritated. He glowered at the blonde and held his stomach once more in a futile attempt to sooth his startled nerves.

"Are you all right?" Jervis walked over to his companion and placed a hand on the other man's knee. "Did they really frighten you that much?" He brushed Jonathan's chin with his finger.

Jonathan shot up straight and almost lost it. He almost fucking lost his _shit_. His lanky legs sprung him from his seat and his skinny arms grabbed Jervis by the collar. God _damn_ he was so ready to beat that stupid remark into oblivion, so ready to strike that very word from continued use upon moistened lips, so ready to… to…

He froze.

Peering into Jervis's wide, blue eyes, he saw himself there, his own reflection, his own fear. His momentum dwindled off as he saw himself throwing Jervis across the room, storming out, hissing and bitching and fighting with all his might against his own desperate emotions, those little dancing demons he kept so disturbingly inside, buried beneath the rubble of a person he called himself. He felt so… ashamed. His hand reached out and caressed Jervis's cheek delicately. "Yes…" he whispered. "Yes they did. They frightened me…"

"Jonathan?" Jervis questioned, perplexed. And he was taken into extended arms, a dark haired head placed securely in the crook of his small shoulder.

Jonathan squeezed tight, giving himself up to the closeness, the touch. He held Jervis for what seemed like hours, swaying side to side as he breathed in deeply and exhaled the very world. A trace of Jervis's sweet scented hair took him further away and he squeezed tighter, grinding his teeth. "I missed you…" he breathed.

"Jonathan…" Jervis lifted his arms up around his partner's back, returning the embrace timidly. "I missed you too, love."

Jonathan stiffened and leaned back, shying away from the pleasant embrace. That was all it took to break him off once again. He blushed in humiliation and withdrew away from Jervis's touch, standing up to take a few steps back. He examined the floor intensely and wished he were anywhere else but in that uncomfortable moment.

"You protected me." Jervis smiled up at him, knowingly.

Jonathan wanted desperately to run but there was no place to hide. He bit his lip as he contemplated his next move. What to do, what to do? Was he trapped? Had the monster called… ugh, _love_ finally caught up to him, ensnaring him? Visions of a white picket fence and perfect smiling couples raced through his mind and he couldn't stop, couldn't stop… oh God.

"I need to sit down," he said, feeling ill again.

"Jonathan…" Jervis ventured.

"Yes. Ok, yes." Jonathan sat on the kicked out chair, resigned. "I did. But _Jesus_, Jervis, the man was gonna' kick your ass, and probably mine too!" He crossed his arms. He wasn't caught just yet.

"Still…" Jervis said, looking listless. "You did." His face turned tender.

"You can be so fucking precarious sometimes, Jerv." _Nope. Definitely not caught yet._

"I…" Jervis started quietly. "I should make us some tea." He gazed at Jonathan and _knew_.

"You have none," Jonathan said. He gulped and his knobby Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"I know," Jervis replied. "Jonathan?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you really miss me?"

"Don't push it, Jerv."


	17. Possession

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Possession  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,883  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan and Jervis get a little closer. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Possession **

It had been very hard to relax those few days before their scheduled heist. Jonathan was always like that before a job, finding it difficult to sit down and chill for a minute let alone read a book and rest. Pulling a heist always made him manic, but he liked the effect so it didn't much bother him that he couldn't stop pacing around aimlessly. He waited, it seeming like _forever_. Finally an anonymous dreg of Falcone's showed himself, and upon the unnamed man's arrival Jonathan requested a large batch of various chemicals, reminding the messenger adamantly that without his fear toxins he was basically inept, save for his re-grown nails and his wits. Cat scratches though, the nails; they were useless.

What, the messenger had asked, was Jervis going to need for his own weapon? Jonathan had had no idea. Jervis wasn't the type of criminal to do something without planning it first, so what could the short man possibly achieve without strategically placing his mind control devices accordingly _before_ the job?

_Give me a_ _pistol_, Jervis had told Falcone's hired hand, _that's all I'll need_. And so it was done. Jonathan had sighed privately at knowing Jervis had at least a gun to defend himself.

After secretly fretting over his companion's safety, his mind wandered to the sheer fact that he and Jervis had never actually pulled a successful robbery together. Really, they hadn't pulled _any_. He had no idea what to expect. He wasn't quite sure how to feel, but he hoped that Jervis was capable of taking care of himself without his protection. There'd be no time to worry about the little blonde when the job started, and Jonathan was determined not to _fuck it up_ as Falcone had put it.

He lingered in thought, realizing the fires in the hearth were growing shallow. Looming over the giant fireplace, he fed the roaring flames another log. It crackled as he tossed the wood down over the others. Chemical beakers and long, glass cylindrical tubes filled with different colored liquids were scattered about the two rickety tables that hugged the right hand wall. Jervis was off somewhere, probably sucking tea while sewing mismatched patches to his torn Hatter's costume, and thus was life.

Things weren't all that dreadful though, it was just a bit different. Nevertheless, Jonathan was still the same Jonathan, cold and unforgiving, and Jervis still the same Jervis, flighty and needing endless attention. Yeah, that was right. No different than before…. right?

"_Pat-a-cake. Pat-a-cake. Baker's man_," he sung loudly, the rhyme somehow soothing. "_Bake me a cake as fast as you can_." He wore his tattered scarecrow outfit, long gray riding boots reaching his knees, his fingerless matching gloves grabbing another piece of wood and throwing it in the fireplace. The fire hungrily devoured the log in ruddy orange flames. Smoke flew up the stock's long chute and the rest spilled out from the mouth of the hearth in large, spooling plumes around him.

"_Roll it. Pat it. And mark it with a B_" he continued, "_And put it in the oven for Batman and_-"

"Would you like some more tea?"

He ceased his singing and arched his neck to peek over his shoulder, squinting at the man who'd disrupted him.

"Tea?" Jervis asked again, a wide smile showing his small white teeth. He was clad in his Hatter outfit, carrying a tarnished silver tray.

"_Pat-a-cake. Pat-a-cake. Baker's man_…" Jonathan trailed off in response. He stepped forward to hang over Jervis's short build. He noticed the man was fully clad in costume, and the sight stirred his interest. They were both represented in their individual egos, their altered personae, and he found he liked seeing Jervis in that big, ridiculous Hatter's top hat, _in this style 10/6ths_ scrawled in Jervis's own cursive on the card slipped in the band that circled around the base.

"You could always have more…" Jervis whispered. His tongue began to fool around inside his mouth. He placed the mottled tray on the table closest to him and pulled out a chair. Sitting down he poured himself some of the hot brew, watching as the tea stained water flowed into his cup. He looked at Jonathan and raised a brow.

"I haven't had any yet," Jonathan said. A smirk crept on his face. He knew the game they were playing, and God help him, he couldn't deny Jervis those trivial antics any longer. What was the harm? "I can't very well have more," he finished, saying the words as if they were lines.

"Ah, but you can't very well have _less_." Jervis grinned. "It's very easy to take more than nothing." He closed his eyes and pursed out his lips.

"Nobody asked _your_ opinion," Jonathan said lightheartedly. "Now," he leaned against the table, close to Jervis, "pour me a cup."

"You broke character," Jervis said and frowned. He gave Jonathan a puppy dog look.

"I want some tea." Jonathan couldn't hide his erection straining against his black pants. A hefty bulge showed his apparent arousal but he just didn't care.

"Hm," Jervis replied. "I don't quite know if it's _tea_ you want, lover." He stared directly at Jonathan's crotch, his expression unchanging.

"Pour me a damn cup, Jervis. I told you, I want some."

Jervis let his blue eyes travel upward to Jonathan's face and they lingered there. He pouted his lips out some more. "Very well," he said suddenly. He poured another hot cup gingerly, taking his eyes away. He put down the teapot and motioned for Jonathan to take his own cup.

Jonathan blew lightly over the scalding surface of the liquid, sipping it carefully after a few blows. Jervis watched him, his searing eyes half lidded and his lips moistened from his pink tongue gliding across them.

Jonathan gazed down at the blonde man and smiled a sultry smile, humming his gratitude. "Mm, thank you," he said.

Jervis took a sip of his own tea, not bothering to blow on it, and licked the fluid from his lips. He determinedly looked up at Jonathan.

Jonathan smiled back and set his cup down in the saucer. "Ah… nice," he sighed.

He turned back to the fireplace and crossed his arms, acting like nothing had happened between them. He could only imagine the stunned look on Jervis's face. If this was going to be a game then Jervis was going to damn well work for it. Jonathan had gotten too accustomed to being the one out of control, desperately seeking the sex playfully denied of him. He decided it was time to enjoy his sexual prowess, and he liked this newly found governance over their intimacy. Usually Jonathan was the one who couldn't wait, but though his pants betrayed his true excitement, the mere fact that he knew Jervis wanted it gave him significantly more patience.

Jervis glowered at his back, scowling. At that moment, Jonathan could practically feel the tug of power between them both. How typical, he thought; if Jervis was deprived of one small thing he threw a temper tantrum. Blame it on only-child syndrome. _So manipulative_. Jonathan smiled big as the fire heated his face, illuminating his sharp cheeks. He could hear Jervis clear his throat, could imagine the man regaining his composure and brushing back his blonde hair.

"Goodness it's become so hot in here," Jervis said. "I think I'll just take off my jacket."

Jonathan sighed, inwardly disappointed. He turned to Jervis as the man was unbuttoning his coat. "No," he said. "Keep it on."

"But, I'm hot," Jervis repeated blankly. His shoulders shrugged from his hatter's coat bit by bit.

"I said leave it on."

"_Why_?"

Oh, Jervis was wicked. The way those plush cherry lips parted as that defiant word spat out made it hard to stay calm. Jonathan kept his cool though, and walked to his blonde partner unhurriedly, fixing the man with a dead stare. _Alright_, he thought in frustration, _you win this one_. "Because," he finally answered, murmuring low, "I want to _fuck_ you in it."

"Hm," Jervis said. He slipped his coat up his arms. "Do you now?" His bucked teeth grazed against his bottom lip as he grinned.

Jonathan was done with the game. He reached out and pulled his companion into a deep kiss, their noses brushing against one another's. As the kiss lengthened, he found himself concentrating on the soft sounds their lips made when together, that wet sort of sexy, smacking noise, the type that was so undeniably two mouths locked as one. He slipped his tongue against Jervis's and grasped the man's chin, pulling away with his eyes closed when he frantically needed a breath. He panted. Jervis gazed up at him triumphantly, his lips wet with saliva.

"Take off your hat…" Jonathan said and put both arms on Jervis's waist. He picked the smaller man up carefully and sat him on the edge of the wooden table.

"You want the jacket on but the hat off?" Jervis chuckled, his smile genuine. "That's the best part of the costume."

"I wanna' run my hands through your hair," Jonathan confessed.

Jervis quickly did as his partner asked and removed his top hat, throwing it across the room with a flick of his wrist. Jonathan's hands immediately went to the blonde locks, entwining his fingers through the slight curls. The sex was close, intimate, like it had the right to be, though Jonathan still remained defensive as ever, internally on patrol, but that in itself was diminishing. He couldn't pretend any longer. He liked it. Liked the feeling of Jervis's mouth on his own, liked the pleasant sounds emitted from said mouth when he was inside that mouths owner. He liked the motion, the rocking, the dipping his hips made, and the sensation of absolute oblivion as he let himself go, but not before Jervis had.

_Ah_, he thought absently, _the Scarecrow and the Hatter_. He kissed Jervis's neck as they lay atop the table resting, him still twitching and Jervis petting his head.

Jervis peeked an eye open. "Costume play. I approve."

"I could go again…" Jonathan replied.

And so they did, Jonathan's back pressed against the table while Jervis rode him on top. Jervis came quick as he was coaxed with a diligent hand and Jonathan followed suit. They found themselves breathless on the table as they had before, only this time Jervis rested atop Jonathan, his blonde head snuggled against the other man's chest.

"Mm, Jonathan," Jervis said quietly, "I missed the feel of you."

"Mm," Jonathan replied.

"You bring me to Wonderland."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Mm, well you wanna' go there again?"

Jervis burst out laughing at the question. "Are you serious?" he asked and straightened himself over Jonathan's hips. He laughed again. "My God, Jonathan, where has all this vigor come from?" He placed his hands on his hips.

"I don't know," Jonathan replied and blushed. "I just… I get anxious before a job." It was true. Sort of.

"Well, I'm not quite sure I'm capable at the moment." Jervis yawned, placing a hand over his opened mouth. "As much as l enjoy my Wonderland, you take a lot out of me."

Jonathan didn't respond, instead he massaged his palm over Jervis's bare belly. During their session he'd somehow managed to undo the blonde's white, button-down shirt. He didn't remove the clothing though, just revealed enough of Jervis's sun- kissed skin to make things more interesting. He bucked against the other man gently. "Aw…" he whined.

"Who hit you at the asylum?" Jervis asked abruptly. He traced Jonathan's blackened eye. "Don't tell me it was who I think it was."

Jonathan had completely forgotten. He reached a hand up to his own face and felt the bruises around his eyes and mouth. Suddenly he wasn't feeling very intimate. He pushed Jervis aside, firmly but not unkindly, and tucked himself back inside his pants.

"Who was it?" Jervis asked again. He flattened down the chaotic mess of golden hair on his head.

"I don't really want to talk about this, Jervis." Jonathan stalked over to the fireplace, taking up another log and throwing it down upon the charred leftovers. He stared at the ashes and the soft flickering glow of the few remaining flames, his pupils dilating from the light. His hand rubbed up his arm and his shoulders tightened in that all too classic way that said 'I'm feeling awkward'.

"Jonathan," Jervis started. He slipped a delicate hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out the box of expensive cigarettes Falcone had left behind. Leaning sideways, he flicked one of the many Bunsen burners on, lighting up with a long draw. Smoke fumed out his nostrils as he exhaled. "I'll haf' none of diss' nonshense," he spoke, the cigarette obscuring his speech. He gripped it between his fingers and took it away. "You _will_ tell me." He sucked in another breath.

"What is this, a fucking interrogation?" Jonathan snapped.

"It was Nigma wasn't it," Jervis said flatly.

"It's not a big deal-"

"Listen for once." Jervis put his hand up. "I don't care about what might have happened between you and him at Arkham."

Jonathan was about to object for whatever good it might have done when Jervis rose his hand again. There was a strange authority in the man's eyes and a confidence in his figure as he lifted his short leg up to rest his elbow upon it. He looked almost cool as he leisurely took another drag, half naked with his hair ruffled and his shirt undone. His other leg swung casually from the table as he spoke. "What's done is done and I'll not blame you for any of it." He spent a brief moment in articulation. "But that was then and this is now."

"What are you _talking_ about?" Jonathan asked.

Jervis looked like he was fighting himself. His mood was growing dark. "That fucking bastard," he said and snarled. "How dare he. How _dare_ he hit you."

"Jervis," Jonathan shrunk back, "It's really not a big-"

"_Don't speak_," Jervis said. "That fucking bag of _shit_."

"Jervis…"

"I told you _not to speak_. When I tell you to do something _you'll do it_."

Jonathan immediately shut his mouth. What was going on? Yes, the mood swings had affected them both but this had to be something more. "I don't understand," he said.

Jervis's face twitched and he rubbed his brows, the muscles in his hand tensing. He shook his head.

"Did I… do something wrong?" Jonathan asked in guilt.

Jervis took a deep breath and looked up at his companion, smiling a shaky smile. "No, not you…" he said apologetically. "It's fucking Nigma."

"Jervis," Jonathan approached. "I don't know what to say."

"_You_ don't need to say anything. This is not your fault. It's Edward's fault, the man clearly has no sense of boundaries. No matter. He'll never put his hands on anything of mine ever again. _Ever_."

Jonathan took a step back, shamefully afraid. He didn't know how to act. He suddenly felt very small.

"That is," Jervis peered up at him through wispy bangs, "if you'll be mine."

Jonathan jerked, his hands wringing together. His voice abandoned him and he stood looking dumb.

"Well?" Jervis asked him. "It's that time, love. Say you'll be mine. Say that no one shall ever lay a hand upon you in desire while we're together. Say those intimacies will be privy to us and only us. I'm not stupid, Jonathan… there's a _reason_ he beat the shit out of you."

Jonathan stumbled, unsure. "I… I…"

"This is a yes or no answer, Jonathan. I'm growing tired of waiting. I _need_ that answer _now_."

"Well, what are you gonna' do if I can't give you one? You just gonna' fucking leave?"

"_Yes_."

Jonathan's mouth dropped open and a strong rush of emotion swiftly shook him. "Wait a minute- wait, what?!"

"Well what do you expect me to do? Sit around for you like some _whore_? Let you go pleasure others while I wait for you?!" Jervis was becoming frantic. "The thought of someone else… it sickens me!"

"You can't leave, you can't."

"You need only say one thing, and I won't." Jervis looked up at him. "I won't ever."

Jonathan's mouth was dry and his tongue seized in his throat. He stood completely silent, unflinching. He was torn. How could he respond? What could he possibly say? Yes, Jervis, I'd love to be your boyfriend, because I'm just so totally gay for you? "I…" he started, bumbling stupidly. "I-I don't know what to say, Jervis." He peered down at the floor vacantly.

Jervis let out a loud sigh, his expression empty. Carefully, he slid from off the table and grabbed his green pants that lay draped over the nearby chair. He slipped them back on and left the waist unbuttoned. Lowering his blonde head, he walked towards the exit with his hands in his pockets.

Jonathan watched in devastation as Jervis neared the door, panic welling up in his chest. He wanted to call out to the man, wanted to shout, to yell, to shriek, anything to keep his partner from leaving him behind. His head reeled madly and he staggered forward, reaching out a trembling hand in some futile effort to preserve the very thing that kept him standing from flitting out into darkness. Jervis gave him one last look, then turned away.

"STOP!" he screamed, choking. "ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT! Just _stop_! Don't go!"

Jervis spun around at the outburst.

"Alright. Alright, alright." Jonathan fell to his knees a few feet away from where Jervis stood, his dark eyes growing moist.

"Alright, what?" Jervis asked.

Jonathan sank and thumped his hands on the floorboards. "Alright, I'm yours..." His nails scratched into the wood. "Whatever you want. Boyfriend, lover, whatever you wanna' call it, I'm yours, committed, yours, _ok_?"

At hearing his companion's acquiescence, Jervis sauntered forward, crouching down with his elbows on his knees. He lifted Jonathan's chin with his finger, forcing the other man to look into his crystalline eyes. "And I am yours." He smoothly captured Jonathan's lips with his own, pressing his tongue inside eagerly.

Jonathan bristled at first but grudgingly let his blonde companion prod his mouth. His fingernails grated against the wooden floor like a cat pawing fabric, the action creating a faint scratching noise. Jervis hummed and cupped his head with two small palms, keeping him still. The kiss was fervent, understandably one-sided as Jervis took the lead, Jonathan reluctantly surrendering to the other man's control. He was about to draw back when Jervis secured his face fiercely, thrusting a wet tongue suggestively in and out of his pliable mouth. He wrenched away and took to his feet, wiping his face on the side of his sleeve.

"Ugh," he spat, annoyed, his face scrunching up in revulsion. "What the fuck was that?"

Jervis laughed merrily, standing up as well. He gave the tall man a quirky grin, his eyes alight with glee.

"That's fucking disgusting, Jervis," Jonathan said, wiping his mouth again.

The rest of their evening was spent in silence, save for Jervis's droning hum and the dim sound of Jonathan's glass beakers chinking together. Jonathan glared at the blonde man while he worked, and Jervis simply smiled, sipping his tea in delight.

* * *

Soft snoring. He was determined to ignore it. Once more he found himself coveting the sleep he was so desperately in need of. Jervis slumbered at his side, half naked, wearing only a blue t-shirt and a pair of gray boxers. Jonathan glared jealously at him. As if on cue Jervis mumbled in his sleep, no doubt dreaming sweet dreams of his ridiculous wonderland. Jonathan eyed him sourly. He had to admit it was kind of sexy, those happy little, dreamy whimpers, but he was still terribly pissed.

In fact, Jervis had tried to sex him up before succumbing to sleep, his breath lusty as he whispered provocative scenarios into Jonathan's ear. Though it had worked to Jonathan's ultimate dismay, he still refused to engage, jerking to his side violently and curling up to himself as Jervis let out a frustrated growl.

Sigh… Maybe he should have just had sex with the man. Or, whatever it was he was supposed to do now. Make love? Ugh.

He shuddered, tearing his eyes away from his partner. Gazing up at the ceiling, he traced the cracks and lines of chipped paint, every so often glancing back at Jervis. When would it be his turn to fall into the void? Jervis had it all, didn't he? The man could just dwell in his cute, lackadaisical wonderland. Just escape into his cozy, quaint little dreams while Jonathan was left to rot.

Oh, that made him so angry.

Beside him, Jervis let out another whimper and muttered something sweet. Jonathan's frown worsened and he cracked his knuckles, the slight snap echoing in the giant room. His mind wandered to his fear gas… would it hurt to give Jervis just a whiff? Jonathan's frown flipped and his lips came apart, baring his teeth savagely. It wouldn't hurt; it'd just take him down a notch, nothing more. Make him realize his wonderland wasn't so _wonderful_ after all. Jonathan snickered to himself silently. He should do it. He _so_ should. Bending forward, he pushed back the covers of their mutual bed, shifting his weight carefully so as not to wake his companion. As he was about to lift himself off the mattress, Jervis mumbled again faintly.

"Mm… that ride… no, that one…" He tossed to his side, smiling. "Mm… that ride, Jonathan." He fell quiet.

Jonathan's face softened and he looked down at his partner in shame. What was he thinking? Lashing out at Jervis was not the solution to his sleepless nights… or his fears. He pushed his mind aside in favor of his heart, the same heart that drove him to wrap his arms around Jervis in a tight embrace. He kissed the other man's lips and slid his long fingers through the tangle of golden hair, eliciting a dazed look from Jervis as he woke momentarily by the movement. Jonathan tucked the man's head underneath his chin while Jervis murmured in question, snoring again almost immediately.

Jonathan's eyes grew a shade darker as he held his lover possessively. He stroked Jervis's hair for what seemed like hours until finally his eyelids began to flutter, and he gave himself up to his dreams.

* * *

A shadowy figure raced through the yellow stalks of corn, drawing his sight away from the opened barn. The sun beat down on him mercilessly and he began to think he was overheating. He searched for signs of a road, a path, something, anything to guide him to somewhere other than the crimson barn which terrified him so.

As he ambled through the thickets of gold a loud sawing noise sang hysterically, surrounding him, and he clawed at his ears like a crazed lunatic. He stumbled on an oversized cornstalk, shying away from the deafening noise. He went to stand but found his foot sinking into the earth. He screamed only to see strands of straw come out his mouth.


	18. Fear and Madness

Chapter Title: Fear and Madness  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 4,811  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch, Scarecrow/Mad Hatter  
Other characters: The Batman, Doctor Leland, Aaron Cash, Officer Harvey Bullock  
Chapter rating: Strong R  
Summary: Old habits die hard. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content, violence.  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes copyright DC and Lewis Carroll

Author's note: So another chapter down. Took me a little on this one, only because Skyrim came out. I know, excuses, excuses. Anyway it's here, please enjoy.

**Fear and Madness**

It was time. Jervis sighed as he ascended the dim stairwell, breaking for a moment to slip on his pearl white gloves. He laced his fingers together, easing the stiff fabric into place and flexing it with clenched fists. The deal was set, the plans were made, and he looked every bit the part he was supposed to look. He repositioned his top-hat and smiled, running the pads of both his thumb and index finger across the rim with a sexy flick. Perfect; he was ready.

Hoping he could say the same of his partner, he neared the main entrance to their recent abode, clearing his thoughts while gripping the folds of his jacket and adjusting his shoulders. Jonathan ought to have been ready and waiting, like he'd said he would be, but Jervis hadn't seen him all that afternoon. The man was likely upset over God knew what. Probably something he'd said or done or whatever. He didn't much care, especially since undergoing their little discussion a few nights ago. _Let him be mad_, Jervis thought proudly, _I have him now_. True, Jonathan being subjected to emotional captivity wasn't the best option there was, but the stubborn man would never relent unless pushed.

Upon the subject of his lover, Jervis' thoughts wandered to his latest victory, and he smiled again, a thick broad smile that wrinkled his cheeks. Deception was his game, and manipulation his tool. So what if his threat to leave Jonathan had been false? It _worked_. Plus, he wasn't about to let the man abandon him _again_. No sir. That first time was quite enough, thank you.

Jervis chuckled at his own wit as he reached the doorway, expecting to see his cross companion donning black. _Ah, Jonathan, _He thought_, What a Queen of-_

"_**BOO!**_"

Jervis yelped in fright and leapt backwards as Jonathan's face popped out in front of his own. The sudden scare made him loose his balance and he nearly toppled over but a quick hand snatched his wrist and yanked him through the door, saving him from a disastrous plunge down the high stone steps. A shrill laugh could be heard over the sound of his pounding heart.

"_HA HA HAAAAA_, Oh my _**God**_, _Hahahaaa_!" Jonathan hooted, "That was _**HILARIOUS**__!_" he slapped his knee hard.

Startled, Jervis tried to collect himself and flared, "_Jesus_ _**Christ**_, _Jonathan!_"

His partner continued to cackle so Jervis brushed his sleeve in an effort to seem unruffled. He smoothed down his hair and paused as he realized his beloved hat was gone. His blonde head bounced from left to right, then conclusively behind, down the stone stairwell. The green top-hat laid a good five steps from where he stood. Giving Jonathan a brief glare he then sought after the final and most important piece to his costume.

"_Asshole_…" he breathed low, rolling his eyes.

Jonathan was still laughing as he retrieved the hat, braying like a donkey despite the man's usual abhorrence for anything so unrefined. When Jervis came back up the steps he stood beside his lover and waited, tapping his little boot against the wooden floor, hand on hip.

"Oh, yes, by all means_, _laugh it up." He sassed.

Jonathan snorted, "Oh _God_… Ahahahaaa," he wiped a small tear from under his eye with a finger, "Oh, that was _priceless_."

"Are you quite finished?" Jervis hissed.

Jonathan's smirk remained unwavering, but his eyes became half lidded as the last of his chuckling died. He stared at Jervis, "I suppose that little demonstration gave you a good idea as to who holds the power in this relationship."

"What is _**that**_ supposed to mean?" Jervis challenged with narrowing eyes.

Jonathan's own eyes narrowed in return and he towered high, peering down on his companion.

"Just remember who you're dealing with." he advised in a serious tone.

Jervis had to crook his neck back to meet the other man's stare. He could have just shut up but the defiance in him was much too strong, and besides, where was the fun in that?

"I'm not sure I'll retain much that way, Jonathan." He mocked, placing his hand against his cheek, "You know me, sweetheart, I need a treat for good behavior, not scares. Why don't you bend over and present that pretty ass for me? I'm certain that'll suffice."

Before he could gloat, his arm was seized in a painful grip and his head jerked back as the other man pulled at his hair with a violent twist. He almost yelped but bit his lip, stifling any sound that might have crept out. Jonathan seethed in rage and tightened both hands, making Jervis wince.

"Now, now, darling," he went on, feeding the fire, "is this any way to treat your _boyfriend_?"

Reeling headlong, he hit the floor as Jonathan's gloved hand connected with his jaw, striking him clear across the face. His hat flew off his head and rolled on its rim within arm's reach. The shock of the blow was blinding, but his senses returned in a flicker and he blinked back a few stinging tears, struggling as he tried to lift his trembling body. He propped himself up on one shaking arm and wiped his throbbing lip with a free hand, finding blood when he pulled it away. He tongued the open sore and gazed up at Jonathan.

Regret was all he could see in the dark glint of his partner's wide eyes. The same hand that had struck him was pressed over Jonathan's mouth, partially masking the gaping, shocked expression underneath.

What _was_ this strange manifestation? Was it guilt, _fear_? Or was it hatred for the vehement hostility that slipped out, for the calloused flesh that recklessly connected with the innocent skin of his companion's face?

Jervis would never know. And he wasn't the type to dwell on it either. True to his character, he seized the moment, becoming reactive rather than reflective. He trailed his tongue along his hand, lapping at the metallic blood from his split lip. He smiled a wide sinister grin, exhibiting teeth stained an eerie crimson.

Jonathan turned away in alarm, his face reddening, and Jervis then noticed the man's shaking hands drift down to cover the growing erection in his pants.

"You'll never hit me again, will you?" Jervis asked in a soft voice. He slowly rose to his feet and eyed the back of his partner's head, willing the other man to answer.

The question was honest, not an attempt to be clever. There was some sort of sincere guilt that bound his shaken lover, something heartfelt and real as opposed to the distant, pitiless creature the man had once been. Jervis knew it, like the way he knew a brainwashed victim would eventually surrender, giving up their free will entirely.

Jonathan was silent. Jervis could only see the man's skinny backside, his black clad figure half outlined by the frame of the window on the opposing wall.

"Jon…," He started.

He tapered off as he witnessed the taller man suddenly step towards the table.

Without a word, Jonathan gripped the roughspun mask and swiftly pulled it over his face, a physical remark that he was leaving, going... gone.

Jervis' heart thumped in his chest and he secretly told it to calm, don't beat so _fast_. The silence was bitter, it pierced the air like a violent wave rippling out and out and out. He couldn't stand it.

"… Jonathan?" He piped breathlessly.

The man became possessed, like two dark hands had wrapped themselves around the 'self' that was 'Jonathan' dwelling inside the body, the vessel he used, and replaced him with another, completely different person to fill the temporarily empty shell. Switching…

Jervis weirdly thought of that movie with the body snatchers, but snapped to attention as the black figure crookedly turned around.

"_**No. Scarecrow."**_ growled the foreign voice.

Jervis' breath hitched in his throat and he nodded.

"Yes," he acknowledged, "Yes, you are."

Jonathan's body suddenly moved. Jervis shut his eyes tight and braced himself for impact, but when nothing seemed to happen he dared to look. Something green and filled his vision, and he jutted his head back to see it more clearly.

"Oh, my hat," He said with a worried chuckle, "Um, thank you."

No sooner had he accepted the headwear back than Jonathan's limber form strode towards the exit, his long black witch-like hat bouncing, leaving Jervis with the dying embers of their fire.

"Wait!" Jervis called, hurrying after the tall Scarecrow, "Wait for me!"

Down the long stone steps and across the metal corridor there was a meager exit, opening to the side of the great building, spitting people out to collect under the towering willow that shed its long leafy locks over the passing stream. Jonathan's stride never slowed, even as Jervis chirped distantly behind him. He tried to match his companion's fast pace but his short gait was no match for Jonathan's lissome legs. Still, he scurried on, managing to keep the man's shadowy figure in sight.

As expected Jonathan reached their destination first and slipped out the door. Jervis quickened his step and raced onward, anxious to meet his lover under the moonlight. He _knew_ Jonathan wouldn't leave him, not now, not at this point… but Scarecrow? He wasn't sure, and that made him uneasy.

He reached the door and dashed through the opening… only to slam into Scarecrow's backside with an _oomph!_ He fell to his butt on the cold, hard ground.

Annoyed, Scarecrow craned his neck to look at the smaller man behind him. Jervis fought to get to his feet, but before he could raise himself up, Scarecrow reached out and grabbed the back of his collar.

"_Ah_! Gentle. _Gentle!_" Jervis grimaced as he was lifted like a ragdoll.

Scarecrow set him on his feet as if it were a chore, as if the smaller man weren't someone he'd known intimately and come to care about, which was, in a sense true. Jervis rubbed his bottom and arched back behind himself to take a look, dusting off the small bit of dirt clinging to his pants. He straightened his jacket as he muttered to himself, fussing over his hat and hair underneath, while Scarecrow marched out to the weeping tree along the water's edge.

A slight neigh could be heard beside the stream, and it made Jervis turn to see Scarecrow approach a startled auburn-colored horse. The muscular creature bucked up on its hind quarters and let out a loud whinny as the tall man grasped at the lead. Scarecrow shifted his weight and firmly pulled on the woven rope, attempting to calm the frightened animal into quiet, going as far as to clutch the beast's leather bridal and, to Jervis' utter delight, whisper into its ear. The horse made a few more soft grunts, bobbing its head up and down in that all too classic horse nicker, that sound children try to imitate, and then it submitted peacefully, letting Scarecrow pat its neck with a hearty _thump_, _thump_, _thump_. He gathered the horse's lead in one hand, and with the other on its bridal, guided the animal to an out-of-date wagon left concealed by the curtain of quivering branches beneath the tree.

Jervis wore a fat grin, though he was rather perplexed at the sight of the carriage.

"Really?" he quipped, "That old thing? They _honestly_ intend for us to make a grand get-a-way in _that_?" he gestured, a half –hearted attempt at nonchalance.

Scarecrow remained silent, only furthering the awkward air between the two contrary men. He began to tie the auburn horse to the wagon, undoing and redoing knots and looping belts around the beast. The horse bent nimbly to the earth and chewed on the fresh grass at its hooves.

"I didn't know Jonathan… had a way with animals," Jervis speculated.

Scarecrow said nothing. He stalked towards the water and retrieved the other horse, a beautiful black mare, barely visible against the night's dark shroud.

Jervis watched him in mute contemplation. _Oh, yes…_ he thought, mentally slapping himself, _He can't understand me. Rhymes, got to be in rhymes. Hmm…_

"Ah, my dear sweet… _beau_," he paused, stumbling, rubbing his neck, "Uh… So very smart of _course_…" he paused again, "In fact, I didn't _know_… he was capable with a _horse_." he smiled as he finished.

The taller man stopped his fumbling to eye Jervis, confusion wrought in his posture. Jervis sighed and shook his head, about to give up, but a strong deep laugh emerged from behind Scarecrow's mask. It was a laugh very unlike Jonathan's. Jervis raised a brow in question.

"_**He issn't." **_Scarecrow said, his voice sounding like a rumble of thunder.

It seemed the ominous Scarecrow knew little words, but he made his point clearly. Jervis smirked and decided to shut up for once. A few more knots were tied in silence, and then at last the horses were tacked, pawing the ground in a show of annoyance. Scarecrow's nimble legs bent and brought him up the side of the wagon with little effort. He sat down on the passenger's side. Jervis shuffled towards the cart, not knowing where to go or what to do next. He was about to walk around to the driver's side when Scarecrow clacked the leather reins on the wooden surface, flicking his head in a gesture to come towards him. Jervis did so and gazed up.

Scarecrow reached down and offered a gloved hand, and Jervis, quite surprised by the gesture, took it. As he stumbled up the side, cursing at his feeble height, he slipped.

"Crap!" he yelled, falling backwards.

Scarecrow reached out like a cobra and snatched his arm, pulling him in a bit too fast. Jervis didn't fall but he crashed into the taller man, their chests against each others, and for a moment their faces were so close he could feel the hot breath exhaled from Scarecrow lips. Those eyes, normally Jonathan's dullish brown, were a dark umber, alive and vivid and staring at him through torn holes. That moment came and went too quickly though, and to Jervis' disappointment Scarecrow put his hands on his waist and lifted him up, plopping him down upon the driver's seat.

Wordlessly, Scarecrow took the reins and placed them in his hands, prying his fingers open and forming them correctly along the leather. The man then leaned back and stretched his spindly legs, extending them out to their full length and propping them up on the foot rail while his arms crossed back to pillow his head. Jervis paused, reins held tight in his two hands, unsure of himself. Scarecrow glanced at him and gestured, his palm reaching out towards the massive skyscrapers of Gotham city. Jervis shyly nudged his nose and gave it a shot.

"_Hah!_" He yelled out, embarrassed. Where had his normal, cavalier self gone? He thwacked the leather down with a showy swoop of his arms, urging the horses to move, but all they did was neigh in rebellion.

He hit the reins down a second time, exerting more force.

Still nothing.

"God_damn_ you beasts, let's _go_." he pleaded under his breath.

Scarecrow shifted in his seat, obviously tired of watching the blonde swear at their horses in fruitless effort. Once again he grabbed the small man by his waist and picked him up, shoving him into the passenger's seat and stealing the reins.

Jervis sat silently, all the while observing the taller man's firm authority with a mild distance. He liked it, but he didn't at the same time. Maybe its foreign quality challenged his own secret dominance, and maybe he found that a _teensy_ bit arousing. Jonathan though he was in control, the boss, in charge, but he was merely lead to believe what he so desperately wanted to be. Scarecrow on the other hand… _he_ was truly feral, untamed, a wild animal trapped inside the cage of another's body. And unlike Jonathan, Scarecrow wasn't afraid of _anything_. At least nothing Jervis knew about… _**yet**_.

"_**YAAH!" **_Scarecrow suddenly roared, breaking his train of thought. The tall man slapped the leather reins down hard with a hollow whack.

The horses nickered high and finally start to move, speeding into a bold canter. Jervis held his seat tight, the bones of his knuckles strained against his skin as he pitched backwards from the force, but Scarecrow pulled up on the reins and they thankfully slowed, their horses submitting into a biddable trot. Jervis breathed a quiet sigh of relief and straightened himself while Scarecrow steered their two unruly mounts onto a narrow dirt path. It would lead straight out of the park, earth becoming tar, and not but two blocks away would stand Gotham City's Bank Depository.

Satisfied, Jervis smiled and began to relax. He propped up his feet as Scarecrow had and took off his hat to place it by his side. He was about to ease back against his outstretched arms but Scarecrow took his head firmly by the hair and pulled him down.

They rode on in silence, save for the clip-clopping of their horses hoofs pounding against the dirt, and of course the slick wet sounds of Jervis' muffled indulgence as his mouth was filled. Scarecrow leaned back, the reins held in his left hand and his right rested upon Jervis' head. He exhaled deeply while the wind howled and the stars shown high from their lofty thrones above.

**XXX**

Independence Day was well appreciated in Gotham City. All those who understood the price of freedom were thankful for yet another paid vacation, and that was about the extent of Gotham's gracious value for those who fought and died to separate the thirteen colonies from the Kingdom of Great Britain. No matter, the celebratory fireworks would serve the two convicted criminals their purpose.

Over Gotham's peaceful harbor, the many dazzling red, white, and blue lights from the fireworks rang loud as they exploded, reflecting their brilliance in the dark murk of the lapping water below. Sure, they had gone off _early _but what did Gotham know of it? The people saw its luster and were drunk at the very sight… that and a few beers, or course.

Two guards stood on watch outside the Depository, eyes alert for anything suspicious. They looked up and saw the radiance of their countries' colors shine, completely forgetting themselves in their patriotism. While they stood with tears in their eyes a small missile propelled itself overhead and ruptured into the large steel door of the Bank's depository, devastating the metal into bits and pieces. The guards lay half dead by the blast.

Through clouds of ash and smoke trailed a wooden wagon, creaking as it wheeled its way towards the site of the explosion.

"… and the Carpenter were walking close at hand," sang a high voice, "They wept like anything to see such quantities of sand."

The wagon drew closer and it became evident there were two men sitting atop its wooden seating. Their burly horses snorted in anticipation.

"If seven maids with seven mops swept it for half a year, do you suppose," Jervis asked, "that they could get it clear, my dear?"

"_**Hmm."**_ Scarecrow contemplated, trying to articulate, _**"I doubt iit."**_

The man was getting much better at speaking plain, but it was obvious rhymes were his native way of communication.

The cart came to a stop before the collapsed doors, and Scarecrow deftly conducted the horses in reverse, backing the end of the wagon closest to the rubble. They would load the Falcone's money that way, as the back panel could fold down like a trucks rear gate.

One of the guards, regaining some form of consciousness, attempted to call on his radio, but was quieted as Scarecrow stomped the hand that held the little device. Another steel-toed boot slammed into the man's rib cage and the guard doubled over, passing out.

The two inmates wasted no time; Jervis unhinged the back panel and pushed it down, and Scarecrow tramped through the chaos of broken debris, his witch-styled hat swaying as he moved. Jervis was about to hop down and go in after his partner when the man immerged with a giant, burlap bag of cash. Scarecrow handed the bag off and in turn Jervis gave him a crooked smile. Scarecrow's face was flat in return, but he began to sing.

"The king was in the counting house, counting out his money," he grabbed another hefty bag, "The queen was in the parlor, eating bread and honey," he lifted it with a grunt, handing it to Jervis, "The maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes," he turned back, eyes confident, "When down came a blackbird-,"

_**THUD!**_

"_AHHHH!"_ Jervis screeched.

Scarecrow swiveled around to find the Batman amidst their stolen fruits, his brawny muscles coiled like a lion ready to strike.

"_**Shit!"**_ Scarecrow snarled.

Jervis was already up and over the side of the wagon, falling to the ground with a clumsy thump and struggling to right himself. Scarecrow lashed out, swinging a balled fist at the dark knight's face, but the punch was ill-placed and unpracticed, and the Batman dodged the would-be blow with the grace of a seasoned fighter.

Scarecrow hopped away from where the Bat landed and quickly slipped a hand behind his back, pulling out a tiny vial filled with a clear liquid. As soon as that small glass container hit the ground it would be all over. The strange concoction would crash with the chemicals of the air and create a powerful fear gas, some of the worst he'd ever made. Scarecrow raised his hand high, bent on throwing the vial down furiously in front of the Bat, when his hand snapped aside from the sharp force of a batarang. The delicate vial flew through the air and shattered on a nearby building, breaking on impact, but the toxin was too far to breathe and it billowed away in the wind.

"_**RRAAAAHHHHH!"**_ Scarecrow shrieked in anger, about to unveil another vial from behind, but in that instant the dark knight burst forward and threw a wicked shovel punch, swiveling out his rear foot to give the blow all his weight.

Scarecrow heaved forward as the Batman's rock fist connected with his gut. He fell hard, crumpling into himself like a piece of foil.

"And thick and fast they came at last!" Jervis cried, aiming his glock, "And more and more and _**MORE!**_" he shot the weapon with deadly accuracy.

The dark knight ducked and sprang behind the wagon. Both horses reared up and whinnied wildly at the deafening blast.

"All hopping through the frothy _WAVES_," Jervis cocked the gun's shaft with a click, "And scrambling to _**THE SHORE!**_" his finger pulled-

A hefty weight leapt upon his back, throwing him violently to the ground. The gun skittered away across the tar.

And the short-lived heist was there put to an end.

Jonathan came to and heard the distant sounds of a man and woman talking, their voices low and guttural. His stomach felt like a serrated knife had been pushed through his skin to imbed itself there, twisting between his ribs. He groaned in agony, thinking of Jervis.

"… fears…" he whispered, delusional.

"… madness…" came a soft reply.

**XXX**

"Get your fucking _grimy_ hands _off_ me, you _**pig**_!" Jervis shouted.

A large assembly of cops shuffled the two inmates down the corridor, furthering them towards Arkham's general admittance center. Jonathan's mask had been torn from his face and he was now lucid; just a regular guy in a fucked up situation. Well, maybe not a _regular_ guy, but certainly not his fearsome alter ego, the one who'd fled his body at the merest sign of trouble. No, the consequences were always Jonathan's to deal with, his to endure.

At his back marched the victorious Batman, tailing two other guards. Jervis was a step behind them, being yanked along by an angry Officer Bullock.

"Goddamnit, hold _still_," Bullock grumbled, trying to keep Jervis from wiggling free, "You ain't goin' nowhere so just settle _**down**_!"

Jonathan couldn't see the two but he could only imagine Jervis giving the fat police one hell of a struggle. Of course, Jervis had been cuffed, they both had, but that didn't mean the short man was subdued. Hell, Jervis was probably more dangerous now then he was an hours ago.

"FUCK _YOU_!" Jervis yelled, eliciting a few smirks from the surrounding cops.

"Ugh, I-I can't hold 'em-," Bullock admitted, grunting. "OW! He _bit_ me! That little _bastard_ _**bit**_ me!"

A few officers started to laugh despite themselves and for a moment Jonathan thought he could hear a soft chuckle from the Batman himself, but he didn't have time to think on it. His face was pressed hard against the cold wall of the corridor, the Bat's giant hand arresting his movement.

"Here," the dark knight said, "Take him."

Two officers filled the Batman's place and held Jonathan against the wall, though in turn his head had been freed, and he twisted it around to watch as the Bat took Jervis by the arm. Bullock stepped away and threw up his hands, swearing under his breath. Jervis continued to resist, though Jonathan knew that iron grip would hold his wild companion like a fucking vice.

"GET YOUR _**GODDAMN **_HANDS _OFF_ ME!" Jervis shrieked, writhing against the Batman's grip.

The Bat's solid jaw set in place, and Jonathan could tell he was done with the shit. The dark knight grabbed Jervis and lifted him up, throwing him over a broad shoulder. Jervis screamed.

"FUCK _**YOU**_, _BATMAN_!" small fists pounded against his captor's caped back, "LET ME _**DOWN**_!"

"Batman!"

Jonathan arched his neck and saw Aaron Cash jogging down the hall with Doctor Leland at his heels. He fought then, unsure as to why, but a third officer came from behind and held him down with the other two, rendering him useless. _Fuck_.

Jervis strained against the Bat's hold but paused as Doctor Leland pulled out a medicinal bottle and a syringe. His eyes went wide.

"No, _no_, it's alright, I'll calm down," Jervis jabbered hysterically, "Heh, no need for that!"

"We do this every time, Jervis." Doctor Leland stated, her voice strangely harsh. She plunged the needle into the bottle.

Jervis thrashed about but the Batman held him strong, gripping him like a python would it's pray.

"No, no, no, no, no, no- NO, Joan, _NO_!" Jervis shouted, "JOAN, please,_ lookatme_, no, _please_," he gave her a nervous chuckle, "_Joan_, I don't need it!"

She neared, needle at the ready, but Jervis tapped the offending hand away with the tip of his foot.

"_Jervis_," she warned him, motioning for an orderly to restrain his flailing legs. The Bat turned Jervis towards her and exposed the his arm.

"Joan, look at me, please, I'm fine, _**Joan**_-,"

"Jervis, quiet now," She hushed as he babbled on. She pushed the needle into the soft flesh of his bicep.

As she administered the drug Jervis shrieked like no other, all the while screaming "YOU FUCKING EVIL _**FASCIIIISTS**_!"

He howled until the drug kicked in.

Jonathan glowered angrily and pushed off the wall. He had to do _something_. He knew to resist was futile, but what was he supposed to do? Sit back and watch as his lover wept and white-coats surrounded the poor man? He didn't know why, but he was fucking _pissed_ at everyone. He ground his teeth, wishing he still had that one molar filled with fear gas.

"Easy Crane." said the dark knight, joining the three other men at Jonathan's back.

_**Fuck**__ that_, he thought suddenly.

Tearing at his captor's restraint, he wrenched his arms away from their grasp. He pushed off the wall with a long leg, causing the three men behind to topple over each other and collapse to the tiled floor. As he started to sprint he could feel a brief sense of freedom, an exhilarating rush like no other. This was Independence Day, the hour dedicated to freedom, sensational justice.

The ground came crashing up fast, about to wreck him fiercely, but he shot his hands out to break his fall. The bones in his shoulder and arm shuddered, tormented by the unyielding smack of concrete, and it was all he could do to just tell his lungs to suck in, _suck air_, _breathe!_

The Batman reeled him in, hand over hand, like a prized fish, and he yelped in pain and humiliation at each tug. Before he could comprehend what was to happen next, the vigilante kneed him in the back, forcing him against his tiled friend, and pressed a strange square device at his nape.

A click and he was out before his head even hit the ground.


	19. Deja Vu

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Déjà Vu  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,914  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Doctor Leland, Edward Nigma, Arnold Wesker, Daedalus Boch, Margaret Pye, Pamela Isley  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch, Daedalus Boch/Margaret Pye  
Chapter rating: Heavy R  
Summary: Jonathan is back at square one. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited. Did a little revision with Doodle's conversation, much better now. Less is more. That's my mantra now.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Déjà Vu**

Arkham asylum was like a bad habit, like some sort of pitiless vice one couldn't shake, and yet again he found himself cast in that familiar role, wrists and ankles cuffed on the green couch in Doctor Leland's office. To his left the same window he'd gazed out weeks before framed the beauty of summer, canvassing the season in all its colorful vim. Flowers were ripening, spreading their plush petals apart to peek at the sun as it shone done upon them, blessing them. It hurt too much to look at, so he turned away and stared at the floor.

Doctor Leland was sitting in her swivel chair, the lower half of her body cut off by the massive oak desk before her. A hand was placed atop her forehead, massaging the dull ache of a frenzied day from her temples. In truth the day had just begun; it was only ten in the morning.

"This has got to _stop_," she said. She chopped her hand on the desk.

Jonathan began to grind his teeth. He wasn't in the mood to be lectured.

"I mean _really_, what did you expect was going to happen?" she continued. "Did you think you two could just walk out of here? Like you could just drop all responsibilities and leave, home free? I'm _tired_ of this, Jonathan." Her frown deepened.

He said nothing, avoiding her gaze. He needed to keep himself in check, but his jaw began to jut back and forth despite his efforts.

"Did you hear me? I'm tired of this bullshit." She rose from her seat. "We almost expect this crap from _Jervis_, but not from-"

"Don't talk to me like you're my fucking _mother_," Jonathan said venomously. "Cut the shit Doctor, and while you're at it? _Fuck off_."

Joan flinched as if she'd been hit. Her face expressed a range of emotions before settling back to anger, and she pointed at him in accusation. "Alright, you want me to cut the shit? Ok, let's cut the shit." She stalked around her desk like a panther, her finger unwavering. "You're not insane, and you don't belong here. You're a good man who's throwing his life away because you're too afraid to admit you're not as tough as you want the world to think you are. You hide behind other's fear to mask your own and pretend you feel no pain when inside you're bleeding. You ask me to cut the shit, well why don't you do me the same, Jonathan?"

He shot out of his seat to meet her face to face, his hands shaking with rage. "_FUCK YOU_! YOU DON'T KNOW _ANYTHING_ ABOUT ME, _NOTHING_!"

"I know you're a sad, pitiful man who's so afraid to be himself you created another person to be, instead of the one you really are."

"DON'T TALK ABOUT SCARECROW!"

"We're hitting chords, Jonathan."

He began to pace, a frantic search to focus on anything besides the ugly truth. His breath was short and he rasped like a rabid dog, turning on her. "YOU'RE A FUCKING BITCH! YOU BITCH, YOU BITCH!" _Scarecrow come out, show this cunt her place_. "FUCKING WHORE!" _Scarecrow, Scarecrow, Scarecrow…_

"What are you, Jonathan, huh?!" She raised her voice as she watched him teeter on the brink. "WHAT ARE YOU, HUH? ARE YOU AFRAID, JONATHAN?!"

"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I AM!" he yelled back. "I'M A _FAG_!"

He stopped short as the last three words burst from his mouth, an explosion downright unexpected. Joan stared at him, shifting back towards her table, her hand hovering over the red emergency button. The self-revelation should've been enough to drive him straight off the edge, but oddly he felt calmed, almost at ease with the release. It didn't take away the confusion though, and he looked up at her with questioning eyes as his legs gave out beneath him, sending him tumbling to the floor.

"Jonathan!" she said, reaching out her arms.

Of course, she did not catch him, and he sprawled on the carpet like a crumpled broken thing. Or at least that's what he felt like, a _thing_, neither this nor that, here nor there. She bent down to his side and put her arms around him, lifting him just enough so that he could rest against the side of the couch. He didn't look at her, but closed his eyes tight.

"Oh, Jonathan…" she said as she sat with him, grasping his hand tight.

* * *

The dining hall pulsed with energy as the inmates scattered about their various tables of standing, rubbing elbows with the ones next to them in hopes of making good connections. It was the worst part of the day. Hell, even the showers of all places had some kind of safety; there was no pecking order to follow or social hierarchy to worry about. The dining hall though, that was where everyone could parade themselves around by who they knew and where they ranked based off the asylum's asinine classing structure, the status system that made it all too much like high school. And Jonathan had _loathed_ high school.

He stood in line hunched over, wishing he could just disappear. It had already been a rough morning, and he'd finally stopped his pathetic crying maybe fifteen minutes before being shuffled down the corridor to lunch with the rest of his lunatic brethren. In their cell, Daedalus had given him an odd look, but thankfully kept his mouth shut and continued to doodle in the sketching pad Doctor Leland had permitted him, smiling to himself all the while.

Though miserable, Jonathan could still appreciate Daedalus as someone safe, and he felt comforted by the fact that he wouldn't have to miss any sleep fearing for his life, not like when he was bunking with Edward. Edward, in fact, hadn't looked at him once since he and Jervis had arrived, and Jonathan didn't know whether to count the disregard as luck or a red flag.

He realized he didn't care as he spied his blonde lover enter the dining hall amongst several over inmates, all of whom marched to the back of the line. Jervis surveyed the area in dismay until he spotted Jonathan four places up gazing at him fondly. Jervis seemed weary, and dark circles had cast themselves under his eyes, but his smile was warm and Jonathan felt uplifted by the very sight, though the new found cheer withered as he matched eyes with the man behind his partner. Eddie glared at him, the look heavy with spite. _Oh my god_… Jonathan thought. _Staff wouldn't place Jervis with that lunatic… would they_?

He turned and his head started to spin. From the crying or the lack of proper nutrition or the thought of Jervis housed up with that fucking _maniac_, he couldn't say, but he hoped to god Arkham's staff weren't that stupid. Jervis and Edward celled together would be like chucking a lit cigarette at a gas station, it just didn't mix unless you wanted a giant boom. The thought was troubling, but Jonathan fought it back and peered over his shoulder again to catch Jervis with a disheartened look. It tore at him to see his companion ill at ease, and he realized then that all he wanted to do was to be by the man's side. Glancing ahead, he took a quick breath and twirled on his heel, scampering past the few inmates between him and his partner. He cut in front of Jervis just as a guard saw him and yelled. "Crane! Get back where you were or- hey!" The young guard suddenly split his attention to an inmate banging a tray against the wall.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at his cohort, positively thrilled by the soft expression Jervis gave him. In that moment he almost forgot about Edward… _almost_.

"No cutting, Jon," Edward said in a flat tone.

"He has my permission," Jervis answered melodiously, paying the man behind him no regard.

The two lovers then locked eyes, and Jonathan let his smile betray him. They stood silently waiting until they reached the end of the line. When they exited the narrow doorway single file Jonathan slowed to let Jervis walk beside him, completely forgetting the awful predicament of where exactly to sit. They ambled down the center row, trays held in their hands, glancing at each other with sidelong looks that said how at ease they both were in each other's presence.

"Hey, Crane!" someone shouted.

Jonathan jerked his head towards the call and saw Daedalus wave, then motion for him to sit in his normal seat. He looked at the table; Warren White and Daedalus sat among the regulars, his crew. He glanced to Jervis, then back to the table, to Jervis again. The choice was easy… so why was making it so hard?

"No, no, Doodle," said a second voice, "Didn't you hear, our Jon-boy is way to cool to sit with the likes of us now." Edward stalked by and dropped his tray on the table. The metal clanged against the cheap wooden surface, causing the nearby inmates to quiet. Edward pressed home, raising his voice loud enough so everyone could hear. "He's got a new friend now, Doodle, so he doesn't need us anymore." The snide remark turned heads and managed to gain a few questioning stares.

Jonathan's breath caught in his throat. Over two hundred pairs of eyes were glued upon him. He bit his inner lip. Jervis on the other hand yawned and continued walking towards his usual seat, glimpsing back at his boyfriend with a raised brow. 'Aren't you coming?' said the look. And suddenly Jonathan's choice was made for him as his lanky legs strode forth, following the blonde man to the back of the dining hall one shaking step at a time. If it had seemed the hall was silent before, it was surely a ghost town then, and Jonathan could almost feel the air change as he took a seat next to his companion.

"What the…" someone started, but the words died.

"Isn't it obvious?" Edward said. "Our dear Jon-boy's in _looove_."

The hall ruptured into one large laugh, and though Jonathan had prepared himself for the onslaught, it hadn't been enough to keep the jeers from crawling under his skin. He hid his face in a hand to obscure the red that covered his cheeks. It was like school, like the orphanage. It was like his whole life and it hurt too much to endure, but a few small fingers snaked their way into his free palm from beneath the table and he turned to look at the culprit. Jervis smiled at him, expression accepting and kind. How was it that one pint sized man, technically a dwarf by legal standards, could be so high above them all, looking down on them? Jonathan had asked himself that very question before but suddenly realized the answer.

Raising his hands, he cupped Jervis's face tenderly and leaned in, placing a long chaste kiss on his partner's lips. A surprised gasp spread its way throughout the hall as the two men locked mouths, and Jonathan let the stillness wash over him as he pulled away from Jervis with a peaceful poise. He should have known it wouldn't last long, and as expected a rushing gust of laughter whipped back at him full in the face like a hurricane. Everyone, everyone was laughing, hooting, baring their pointed snarling teeth in some gaudy, unreasonable show of absolute hysteria. Even a few guards let loose.

"I'm fucking crazy," Jonathan whispered to himself as he stared at his tray. "Leland was wrong, I _am_ crazy, I _do_ belong here. I'm absolutely fucking insane…"

"You're fine," Jervis said and bit into an apple. "Could be worse." He chewed and shrugged. As he took another bite, Arnold Wesker began prodding him with a bright orange puppet. Jervis shut his eyes at the interference. When the older man realized he wasn't getting anything from his friend he shoved the doll further past and nudged Jonathan in the arm, leaning over Jervis to reach.

"Arnold, get that fucking thing out of my face," Jervis said.

Jonathan sat with them, watching Jervis bark at Arnold while yearning for the din to subside. It took almost their entire lunch period and a few irritated guards to defeat that never-ending chorus of mirth. When the noise finally passed Jonathan began to pick at his food, and Jervis, in all his optimism, congratulated Jonathan on standing strong in the face of his fears.

"Fuck you," Jonathan said low.

"Yes, yes, darling, but not here," Jervis replied, leering. "My goodness, you really _are_ crazy."

* * *

A sharp pain made him grip his side as he twisted to see Daedalus sitting on the toilet of their shared cell. Doodle was shaving, running his hand over the fresh patch of smoothed skin his razor had made and listening to an assorted array of classical music. Who would have thought Doodle, of all people, could make such a comfortable cell mate?

Jonathan hissed at the pain in his gut and cradled his arm against his ribs, a tender area the brutish Batman had strongly seen to. He searched for his book, a self help guide Doctor Leland had given him titled _Awakening From the Deep Sleep: A Powerful Guide for Courageous Men_. He rolled his eyes. It was certainly not his first choice in literature, but it was a nice enough gesture, and some things were better than nothing. Carefully, he opened the worn cover to the page he'd last read. Doodle paused a moment to inspect his chin then peered at the man behind him through their cell's mirror.

"Read, read, read, that's all you do, Crane," he said with a crooked smile.

Jonathan didn't respond. In fact, he hadn't spoken since lunch, and only to Jervis, though Wesker was arguably part of the conversation if you counted the man interrupting them every five seconds. Jonathan had tolerated it, even smiling a bit, but Jervis rolled his eyes as if he couldn't be bothered.

"_How are you holding up_?" he had asked his blonde lover, "_You know… rooming with Edward_."

Chocolate milk had almost shot through Jervis's nose as he practically choked on the implication. "_Are you kidding me_?" he had chuckled after regaining his lungs, "_Nooo-no, no, no. God, no. I'd kill him. They know that_."

Jonathan had almost laughed at his companion's audaciousness, but he was sick of laughter. Though hushed, the haunting jeers of several inmates had gone on in the form of coughing fits meant to mask the phrase 'fucking faggots' or 'homos'. After a while he had simply refused to hear it. Turning his attention to Jervis, he had waited patiently for the hour to end, listening to his partner jabber on in exasperation about his residency with Wesker, as per usual. Arnold had nodded his agreement and smiled, oblivious.

It had been a strange thing, Jonathan mused, but through the scorn of his peers he had come to realize something, something very important. He realized that Jervis- with those gesturing hands and speedy mouth- was all the strength he needed to block the tiresome ridicule from his ears. For the first time, instead of concentrating on the negative shit surrounding him, he listened to Jervis, and surprisingly appreciated it. But all was not over, he knew, for the derisive mockery had just begun, and it was bound to continue, especially since the whole of Arkham knew about his relationship with _the Hatter_.

"Hey, Crane," Daedalus suddenly spoke. "Can I ask you sumthin? And like, be real honest, ok?"

Jonathan cleared his throat and waited, raising his brows over his book in question. Here it would start, the sniggers, the jeers, the laughter, the hurt hitting him hard and him fighting to bury it. He readied himself for the worst.

Doodle saw him in the mirror and whirling around on the toilet. "So like, what you think of all this _roommate_ bullshit?"

Jonathan wheezed in relief.

"I mean like, wha' kind of a goddamn, state run facility is this? They all like get well an' shit, an here they have us bunked together cause they ain't got no fuckin' money for expansion? That makes me real secure in ma treatment here, Doc, real secure."

Jonathan chuckled softly. "I know…" He rubbed his arm.

"What's up wit' you, man?" Doodle looked puzzled.

"Oh, nothing."

"_Oh_, you thought I was gonna' ask you 'bout that _thing_ in the diner hall!" Doodle laughed and slouched back against the toilet with a smirk at his own cunning.

Jonathan in turn dove behind his book, squinting at the words therein and gnawing on his lip.

"Aw, man, that was so funny, Crane! Eddie was all like _yo, I'm callin' you out_, an' you were all like _fuck you, watch this_, an' everyone was like _holy shit, can he do that_? Man, that was fuckin' brilliant! I approve."

Jonathan stared at his cellmate, his jaw slackened. "Everyone was laughing," he stated blankly.

"Well, yeah, a course they were," Doodle said.

Jonathan let a partial sigh escape and looked at his book.

"I thought you meant to do that." Doodle cracked his neck with a baffled look on his face, his black dreads springing in the direction of his movement.

"Not… exactly."

"Well, what's the problem?"

"Are you serious?"

Daedalus jerked his head forward and raised his brow. "I don' get it, what you so riled about?"

Jonathan shook his head.

"Hey." Doodle jerked his thumb towards the other cells. "You really care what these fuckers think?"

The book Jonathan was holding slowly started to reveal his face as he peeked out, suspicion showing in his narrowed eyes.

"Whatever man, come on, Eddie's a tool." The black man leaned against their sink. "An' the others? Man, look me straight in the eye an' tell me the Joker ain't a lil too interested in the Bat, if you know what I mean. An' look it Ivy, you can't tell me there ain't sumthin between her and Harly." He paused in thought. "Though she gonna' have a hard game wit' the Joker in there."

Jonathan let the book slid down a bit more.

"Oh, an' let's not talk about Harvey. Or Freeze, or Zsasz, or Dumpty, or Calendar, or Croc, or Bane." He listed them off on his fingers.

A small smile crept on Jonathan's lips and he let the book fall as Doodle continued.

"An' don't even get me started on Wesker, man that guy has it _bad_ for that fuckin' orange thing he carries around."

Jonathan started to laugh. "It's true; he does love that stupid thing."

Daedalus smirked and crossed his arms. "Mm, yep."

"And you?" Jonathan asked, his laugh gone.

"Me? Hm… Well, I got a lil thing wit' that Magpie chick." He licked his lips in thought. "Damn, is she fine."

"Yeah… she's nice…" Jonathan opened his book.

Doodle eyed him. "He make you smile, Crane?"

"Huh?"

"Smile. Does-he-make-you-_smile_?"

Jonathan's brows furrowed and he glanced at the ceiling, unsure. He gave the artist a vague expression. "I… he does…"

"There ya' go." Doodle leaned back and crossed his arms above his head.

Jonathan heaved a great sigh. "I suppose…"

They spent the rest of the evening engrossed in their own little diversions- Jonathan his book and Daedalus his sketching pad. Soon it was nine o'clock, and across the sizeable complex of Arkham the lights began to shut off, each ward checked and accounted for by its personal guard staff. Jonathan lay awake on his bunk, the thin blankets draping his angular pelvis as he shifted to his side. He wasn't expecting much sleep, but perhaps something in regards to his conversation with Doodle put him at ease, so he shut his eyes feeling snug and warmed, thinking of Jervis.

* * *

"_Crane_," a hushed voice spoke. Jonathan stirred. "_Crane_."

A loud groan was his response and he rolled over, curling up with the blankets between his knees. The voice pestered him until he came to, and he growled with a big yawn and a sour disposition. Who the _fuck_ just woke him up? He was having a _really_ good dream about Jervis and lemon cakes… Mm, orange zest… and chamomile… wet lips…

"_Crane_."

"_What_?" he hissed, undoubtedly awake. He shot up and turned towards the voice, gripping the bed's handrail.

"Jeez," Doodle said. A laugh was showing in his brown eyes. "I just got a surprise for you is all."

Jonathan rubbed his eyes in disbelief as Jervis stepped forth from behind a tall, female guard. Daedalus paused for a moment to grin at Jonathan then signaled. She pushed Jervis into their cell.

"Hi," Jervis whispered, gazing up as his lover.

"Hey," Jonathan whispered back. He motioned for Jervis to ascend the ladder to his bunk, licking his lips in anticipation as the shorter man grasped the first handle.

"_You owe me_," Doodle said in a low tone. He turned away and handed the guard a piece of paper, a sketch he had done, and she in turn nodded, jerking her head towards the woman's ward.

Daedalus looked on as she then closed the cell door, locking the two avid lovers inside. Their reserve had evidently abandoned them as Jonathan had already seen to his lover being pinned against the mattress, lips and hands roaming free over freshly exposed skin. Doodle averted his eyes politely and the guard took his arm as Jonathan flung the blankets over he and Jervis, appearing thereafter like a moving, gray blob.

"Can you believe that?" Doodle asked the woman guard, shaking his head with a tsk. "Not even a thank you."

She pulled him along down the hall quietly as if she'd heard nothing. Circling around the back halls, the ones less frequented by other guards, they reached the woman's ward in a matter of minutes. Doodle cracked a satisfied grin as the door to Poison Ivy's cell was unlocked and the guard shoved him through, closing the door quick with a surprising silence. She almost walked off but Daedalus stopped her, whispering, "Hey. Give it here."

The woman looked at his palm and reached into her pocket to reveal a single metallic marble. She placed it in his hand and said, "Remember, five a.m."

"Ah, Daedalus…" a languid voice hummed from behind him. "Another three a.m. Come for your late night rendezvous?"

He turned to see Ivy stretched out upon her bunk, batting her long lashes and running a hand through the mass of her thick red hair. If one weren't too careful they could fall right into those eyes and, if she so willed it, shrivel and die under her trance. Doodle simply smiled at her, unfazed.

"I ain't here for you, Red." He sauntered close, glancing up. "I'll take what's on the top bunk."

"This bird don't sing for free," Margaret Pye said, leaning back against her elbows.

"A course, Maggie." Doodle held up the marble, twisting it in the cell's scant light. It glimmered once, twice, three times, and Magpie was hooked.

"_Oh_, shiny!" she blurted. He hopped into her arms.

Ivy rolled her eyes at the sounds of her cellmate and the man from across the wing getting it on, placing a delicate green hand beneath her chin in reflection. "I gotta' get my own place…"


	20. November

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: November  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 4,433  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nigma, Aaron Cash, Bane, Deever Tweed, Dumfree Tweed, Daedalus Boch, Scarecrow (separate entity)  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: R  
Summary: Jonathan is back to square one. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**November**

Locusts sung whilst they fed upon the crops, chirping madly in their continuous song and peering at him through large, segmented eyes. He stared at one as it hungrily gorged itself, buzzing its translucent wings in reaction to his presence. For a brief moment it made him wish he could have giant, beautiful insect wings, so as to cool himself from the heat and fan his scorched back and arms. The temperature was overwhelming… it was difficult to breathe.

A soft flutter of dry air wafted its way past and his eyes began to water. He couldn't inhale… his lungs stopped working… he couldn't escape the inferno that was his dream, lest he bury himself in the cold dirt below, but the ground wouldn't budge as he scuffed his bare foot against it, as if it were a stage prop with no real use. He groaned, and the sun rolled higher in the sky, keeping perpetually at noon. If he didn't think fast he might faint in the fields. He had to reach the barn…

He dropped to his knees as the heat began to envelop him, nearly frying his brain, and he cried out in agony as it kept getting hotter and hotter. His vision went white and it was all he could do to keep crawling on towards something, anything, though he couldn't see what lay ahead.

_Jonathan…_

_Oh my god I'm going to die_, he thought.

_Jonathan_…

Just as he was about to lose consciousness, an ice-cold hand pressed against his forehead and traced down his face, reviving him. His eyes quivered before opening to see scattered bales of hay placed awkwardly against a wooden paneled wall, and looking up he could see the rafters cross above, supporting a high spanning roof and shielding him from the sun's fury. As he thanked whatever God there was that spared him from that eternal fire, he shifted to stand, but suddenly a black figure raced across one of the supporting beams, catching his eye as it vaulted to the next beam with incredible ease. He propped himself up and smiled softly.

_Scarecrow_.

The figure paused, hearing his thoughts, then with a sudden jerk, leapt down from the rafters to meet him, glaring at him through glowing red eyes. Scarecrow had a tendency to morph, looking different each time Jonathan 'saw' him, but there was a lasting familiarity there, an odd feeling akin to that of a lost friend, a family member, a lover. He knew with his entirety what Scarecrow was, what the creature looked like, how it felt, what it needed, desired, craved; and through their connection Scarecrow poured its never ending thirst for fear and acceptance, for passion, rage, and yes, even for love. It was a bitter-sweet thing at best. Yet as Jonathan glanced up to view his other half, there seemed a detachment, as if something were amiss.

Scarecrow stalked towards him, squatting to seize his face with a chilled hand. It felt good. Jonathan rubbed his feverish forehead against it and the palm flattened itself in response as he looked up to see his own face, to see the sour obstinate bastard that he was. It made him afraid. He shot forward and clutched at Scarecrow's tattered skin. Scarecrow growled.

_You're angry with me_, Jonathan said, rubbing his face into the creature's chest.

_Upset_, it said back.

_I've missed you…_ He dared to look up.

_You banish me_. Scarecrow snarled, tearing away.

The heat came again and Jonathan sprung to his feet, darting to Scarecrow's side and desperately clinging to the other man, his own self, with a terrible need. Scarecrow glared at him, but didn't move. Instead, he gripped Jonathan and placed his hand atop the other man's burning forehead. Jonathan sighed in relief.

_Don't understand… Who will protect you_? the creature asked.

_You'll always be here inside. _

_You never come to me anymore._

_I'm sick of this_. Jonathan suddenly pushed himself away. _I need something more than this, something flesh and blood. Something real!_

Scarecrow's mouth dropped at the outburst. _I give what I can_, he said, circling to meet the other man's gaze. _I can only give so much_.

_Without you I'm fragmented_, Jonathan replied. _But maybe with some help… some effort, we can be whole. We can be truly together_. He clasped his hands, lacing his fingers. _Don't you want that? To be one?_

The rafters creaked as a scant wind blew against the roof, and Scarecrow tipped his head up, listening closely before answering. _And the white sparrow? He sings a wicked song._

_No, I'm tired of being alone_, Jonathan said. _He's real. You're just a piece of me, no matter how much you want to be your own self. You can never give me what he can. _

_He'll sing to you, tell you what you want to hear_. Scarecrow drew close. _But soon the crow is caged where the sparrow once was. _

_You're jealous_.

Scarecrow flinched and stood in silence. The wind suddenly howled outside the barn and Jonathan froze in panic as the walls began to sway. He stumbled backwards into one of the pillars and gripped the wooden support to steady himself. That was all it took for Scarecrow to appear in front of him. Jonathan gasped, unable to see anything besides blood red, and for one frightening moment he couldn't read Scarecrow's mind. He cowered as Scarecrow inched closer, and suddenly his body was on fire, his muscles tensing as if a bout of electricity had zipped through him, straining his wits and motion.

Scarecrow's lips pressed against his.

_Everyone knows crows kill sparrows_.

* * *

Jonathan awoke then, covered in sweat. Looking over, he could see the Arkham's hospice doctor staring at him through the widest eyes he'd ever seen, though that didn't keep his attention long as there was something foreign in his mouth. Without thinking he swallowed and concluded the strange substance to be nothing, just his own spit…

Wait a minute.

He glanced down to see his own two long fingers inside his mouth, his tongue slipped around one as if sucking on a popsicle. He pulled them out and, in slow motion, looked up to the doctor, who in turn put a hand to his face and covered his mouth, shooting off brusquely with a gag. Jonathan glanced about in bewilderment, recognizing the stark medicinal smell of the infirmary as it greeted his nose, and stopped at he found his bizarrely placed hand above his head. Whitish, semi-clear liquid ran down his palm, and the two fingers he'd found inserted in his mouth were wet from his saliva. Licking his lips, he lingered in thought. His face suddenly went pale.

_Oh. My. God._

A cringe overtook him, and revulsion caused a flurry of coughs and sputters to wrack his body as he blindly wiped his hand on the infirmary's cot. While he was busy clawing at his own tongue, the doctor had returned carrying a two way radio. He gave Jonathan a sickened look but diligently pressed his thumb down on the speaker control.

"Mr. Cash," he said into the machine. "The patient Jonathan Crane is now fully awake and alert. I suggest you… come down here and escort him back to his cell." He stared at Jonathan.

Jonathan blushed and slipped his exposed manhood under his pants elastic waistband. He sank into his cot and waited. Thirty excruciating minutes later, Aaron Cash strode through the door, and Jonathan nearly shot off the cot in anticipation of escaping one of the most uncomfortable situations he'd ever been a part of. The doctor kept staring at him through unyielding beady eyes, and he couldn't take the downtrodden air of the hospice any longer. Mr. Cash took him by the arm and helped him to stand, but he rocked back on his heels as his blood pressure dropped.

"Is he gonna' be alright?" Cash asked. He looked at the doctor.

The doctor coughed and looked Jonathan up and down with a raised brow, then answered Cash as he stared at Jonathan's torso. "He should be fine, fever's gone down and he's showing no other signs of illness." He cleared his throat obnoxiously. "Some ample rest should make all the difference. Though I would seriously suggest he put on weight."

Jonathan's gaze hit the floor and he traced the seams between each wooden tile.

"But he can go back to his cell?" Cash asked.

The doctor kept his eyes on Jonathan, but blinked after registering the question. "What? Oh, of course." He waved them away as he jotted some notes down in a numbered file. Mr. Cash pulled on Jonathan's arm and they both exited the infirmary. As they walked, thoughts of Jervis began to arise in Jonathan's head, and he suddenly remembered to ask what had happened.

"You had a bad fever last night," Cash told him as they rounded a corner. "Boch was complaining you were being loud, tossing and turning. Slept through the morning though, you did, after the fever went down a'course."

Jonathan nodded and kept silent. They stopped in front of his cell and Cash pressed the security code to open the door.

"Oh, one more thing," Cash said as he let Jonathan through. "Doctor Leland says no therapy today. Just to try and relax. Take it easy."

Jonathan nodded again and the weighty, metal clank of his door closing pierced the quiet calm of the empty hall.

"Everyone's at lunch now, Crane," Cash said kindly as he saw the look on Jonathan's face. "I'll bring you back something to eat, it's probably best you lie down anyhow." He turned to leave but stopped short. "Oops, almost forgot. Showers at six. If you still want one you can go. If not you have staff's permission to stay in your cell."

"No, I'm feeling alright," Jonathan answered hurriedly. "I'd like my shower, please."

Cash gave him a friendly smile and muttered a quick _good_, then left to return to his post. Jonathan put a quivering hand to his forehead and leaned against one of the bars to his cell. It was all coming back, the dreams, the passing months, Jervis… He rubbed his head against his hand at the thought of Scarecrow fading. _Good riddance_, he thought, _I don't need him anyway_…

About four months had passed since his incarceration, and November came with a sharp bite and a depressing gloom as the seasons sprinted for winter, but the consistent flow of his daily routine was at long last becoming agreeable. Oh sure, there were some fits here and there, a tantrum or two about his medication, and of course the many awkward moments spent in either the mess hall, the recreation room, or their mandatory showering sessions. But knowing he would share his bed with Jervis those scarce few nights a week was enough to tame him completely.

Jervis, it had seemed, managed to ease the inevitable and sometimes traumatic transition Arkham demanded of all their inmates, and somehow the little man filled the chaotic emptiness Jonathan found within his heart, which was both an amazing and baffling feat as Jonathan's heart stood years of self-imposed isolation. And more surprising still, Jervis had finally started responding to treatment. He could be seen on many an occasion diligently read his prescribed self-help books while taking down notes for therapy, and he was thinking aloud about his feelings in conversation instead of resorting to manipulation. Even his uncontrollable anger seemed to dissipate, though Jonathan could still sense it there, stewing, especially after he'd endured a tiresome day. All in all, things were on the up, so Jonathan had no reason to complain… except for Edward Nigma.

Edward's emerald-cut glare continued to follow him regardless of circumstance, which he in due time ignored, but as one day passed and he caught those green eyes surly and sullen transfixed upon his lover, the fear clawed up his throat as if to choke him, and he swore to keep Jervis as close as possible no matter how much the other inmates taunted them. They were not welcome, that was clear.

The notion of spending possibly the rest of his life in Arkham's homemade hell, with its closing walls and delirious madmen, made him yearn for the long lost summer he'd missed… and maybe to get the fuck out. For good.

His head spun as he climbed to his bunk and dropped to the mattress, nose-diving for the pillow. He breathed into the fabric and let his mind wander to Jervis, to the man's flaxen hair and deep blue eyes; those brilliant colors, like the sea lapping against a balmy beach, or a clear sky towering over golden, rolling fields. Summer colors.

"Fuck…" he said and closed his eyes, hoping to dream. He laid on his bunk for a few hours, his knees curled up to his chest as he let the meal Mr. Cash had brought him grow cold on the floor, and he listened to Doodle sketch from the bunk beneath until a guard came by to bang a thick black baton against his cell.

"Yo, Crane, shower time," the man called, shifting. "You want it or not, girly boy?"

Some of the guards had taken to calling him names… not like they hadn't before, but the ammunition was now real, reinforced by his well known affiliation with Jervis. No matter, he sprang off his mattress, his shoes smacking the floor with a slap, and approached the bars.

"Yes, I would," he said softly. "Please."

"Well, hop to it, Josephine," the guard said. "And what about you, Boch, you wanna' shower or you wanna stay stinkin' up the place?"

Daedalus continued to draw in his sketching pad as if he'd heard nothing, but his middle finger rose up in response. The guard snorted and motioned for Jonathan to stand against his cell door, back exposed, and Jonathan sighed as he turned to let both his hands through the small space between the bars, knowing some guards were more cautious than others. It seemed the ones who gave him the endless shit were those others. "I'll see you when I get back, Doodle," he said as the guard cuffed him with a little too much force.

Daedalus waved nonchalantly without looking up, and Jonathan turned back to face the door. The guard unlocked his cell and took him by the arm, jerking him aside to close it once again. They marched down the hallway towards the facility's showering station, and Jonathan, though knowing full well the embarrassing process of stripping naked in front of other men, felt calmed by the fact that he would get to feel a hot stream of water caress his aching back and shoulders. It was well worth the discomfort.

The two reached the flapping doors that gave way to the showering station and the guard placed Jonathan in line behind another inmate with a rough tug. The guard then un-cuffed him and strut off, leaving him among the three staff members who ran the station's schedule. Fifteen minutes of quiet bliss, Jonathan reminded himself as staff commanded them to remove their clothes. He made sure to look downward while he took off his pants.

If things hadn't been bad enough for him, they sure as hell got worse as Edward Nigma walked in late, escorted by a fat, balding guard. The guard left Edward in line with the other inmates and Jonathan resisted the urge to shiver as he felt the cool air against his bare skin. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed Edward stripping fast, giving him a cocked brow when their eyes met. Edward's jaw tightened and his green eyes trailed down Jonathan's body with a blatant boldness customary to his character. Jonathan looked away and huddled up to himself, trying not to let Edward's stare bother him.

"Alright y'all," one of the nicer staff announced. "You know the drill, fifteen minutes max, ten minutes minimum." He pulled the weighty, whitish colored door open and let the inmates through.

Jonathan rushed to his normal shower head and stood staring at the wall, waiting for one of the few enjoyments he had in the asylum to start. Edward sauntered in behind and claimed a head off to Jonathan's left along the other wall, five spaces away, and the other inmates such as Bane, Tucker Long, and the two Tweed cousins Deever and Dumfree, gathered in either their usual spots or, for the ones like Tucker Long who refused to shower, shuffled to any space without a care.

Junkyard Dog grumbled to himself as he reluctantly stood beneath a shower head two spaces from Jonathan's right, asking what the point was in being clean if he was only going to get dirty again. Jonathan ignored the comment and clutched at the soap given to him by staff, instinctively shifted his leg to shield himself from any prying eyes he knew to be peeping.

Staff made a final count of each inmate before exiting the room, and another moment elapsed before the shower's switched on, spraying a cool jet of water on the recipients below before warming to a satisfying temperature. Jonathan sighed to himself and closed his eyes in bliss as he tilted his head into the warmth, letting the water drench his face and hair. He bent forward and let the stream pool at his lips until becoming too heavy and trickling off in a small thread. As he lathered up his soap, he found it hard not to think of Jervis and their last night together, but he'd practiced enough self-control in the past few months to steer his thoughts where he chose, if only until the shower ended.

Ten minutes passed and six of the inmates left when being told they could, making it so a few others remained. Jonathan barely noticed the mark as he continued to wash himself, savoring the rare white noise uncommonly found within Arkham's walls. He breathed deep, the hot steam filling his lungs and clearing his throat, and he rubbed some suds languidly across his chest, but the soap slipped from his grasp and slapped to his feet. He looked down at it for a moment then disregarded it, deciding to massage his sore neck.

"What's the matter, Crane? Not gonna' pick up your soap?"

An unexpected jolt had him slammed against the wall, his arms pinned by their wrists and his shoulders gripped on either side by gruff hands. The sudden shock caught him off guard, but impulse compelled him to struggle and he shouted. "What the fuck? Get off me! "

He swiveled his head to see Dumfree on his left and Deever on his right, holding him firm. He searched for an answer as Deever grinned at him, but his thoughts were jumbled as a massive hand smashed his cheek into the wall, yielding him dazed and outright confused. _What's happening_? he thought in frantic bits.

"Calm yourself," a voice said from behind with a thick accent.

"BANE!" he yelled, "Get _OFF ME_!"

Strong fingers spread over his mouth and a meaty palm squished his cheek further into the wall. Fear began to set in.

"You will be stopping that now," Bane said in his usual brogue. "I'll be giving to you a new job, Crane." He pushed his massive body into Jonathan's back while the Tweeds snickered. "You will be, uh, how do you call it…" He paused as if in thought. "My new bitch."

Dumfree snorted and Deever laughed as he witnessed Jonathan's eyes go wide in fright. Jonathan thrashed violently, but Bane's gigantic frame stood tall, taller than even Jonathan's, and that mammoth body pressed against him the more he fought, forcing the air from his lungs. He started to shriek in wild panic as Bane forced his legs open and nudged what could only be a solid erection between his buttocks. He tried to kick, scream, anything to protect himself, but it was no use. He began to cry as Bane paused before thrusting in.

"_HEY_!"

Bane jerked in confusion, lurching back suddenly from the force of a fist connecting with the side of his head. The two Tweeds released their grip on Jonathan as they watched the giant man stumble from the blow, but Bane quickly regained himself and grew angry, cracking his knuckles in menace. "Nigma," he said with annoyance. "What are you doing?"

Edward's fist flew again, hooking Bane square in the jaw, and the man staggered to a knee. Dumfree bellowed loud and galloped at Edward, throwing his portly gut into the other man, and Edward bounced like a ragdoll from the force, skittering to the ground. Deever hoisted Edward up and clenched him in a tight hold, but Edward snapped his head back and hit his captor in the nose. Blood spurt from Deever's nostrils and he yelped in pain, releasing Edward to cup his hands to his face. As Deever reeled back, defending his broken nose, Dumfree charged, but Edward sidestepped the one-man stampede and the hefty Tweed bowled into his cousin by accident. They both fell to the floor in a fat heap.

While beholding the scuffle, Jonathan cowered against the wall. The two Tweeds fell and he dashed to the exit, yanking on the long handle, but the door wouldn't budge. He whirled around and lunged for the nearest corner, ducking low as he saw Bane raise two laced fists above his head, about to deliver a hammering smash against Edward's skull. But swift and spry, Edward snapped a well placed kick into Bane's groin, bringing the giant down as the flat of his foot hit the man's naked balls. Edward huffed in exhaustion, but grabbed Bane by the throat and slammed him back into the far wall.

"Nigma," Bane choked out.

"If you ever come near him again-"

"You'll do what? Make me solve riddle?" Bane let out a derisive laugh.

Edward tightened his hands around Bane's throat. "If you ever touch him again, I'll fucking gut you and feed you your entrails!"

"We had a pact, Nigma," Bane said, scowling. "Consider yourself dead."

"Hear _this_, Bane," Edward ground his teeth and squeezed. "Jonathan Crane is off limits, you understand me? _Off Limits_."

"Fuck you, Nigma," Bane spat.

Eddie punched and the back of Bane's skull cracked against the wall, chipping a tile. "Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch are off limits, you _GOT THAT_?" he said. He kneed the other man hard in the testicles, and Bane hurled forward, slumping to the ground and clutching at his groin.

"Got that," Bane said and wheezed.

Edward swept back his tangled hair, about to approach Jonathan, when Aaron Cash came kicking through the door. "What the _hell_ is going on here?" Cash exclaimed, "Who the _fuck_ locked this-" He halted as he saw Jonathan crouched in the far left corner. He then caught sight of Edward stepping back while slowly raising his hands. "You just don't know when to quit, do you Eddie?" he said and tackled Edward into the north wall, his forearm crushing the man's windpipe.

Jonathan didn't wait to hear Edward's response. He raced out the opened door and nabbed a towel, wrapping it around himself while he trying to remain calm, but he shook like an earthquake had hit, and thick tremors whipped up his back. In the other room, Edward gasped and blurted out, "It wasn't me, I swear!" He eyed the floor several times and said, "Bane!"

Cash peered down and released his hold when he saw the mammoth man rocking to and fro, holding himself with his teeth clenched while a few feet away the Tweed cousins slowly rose to their feet. Cash shook his head and growled low. Edward moved towards the exit, but Cash seized his neck in a vice grip and held him there, and as the man squirmed and yelled Cash tore his two-way radio from its holster and made a call. "Aaron Cash speaking," he said into the device. "I need security down in the men's showering station. And don't take your sweet ass time about it."

He flicked the radio back in its holster and pushed Edward towards the doorway, and while staff scurried around to lock the station, security rushed to the scene and cuffed each inmate, escorting them back to their individual cells. Cash spotted a guard urging Jonathan through and he stopped them both, gently asking if Jonathan needed medical attention, but Jonathan shook his head with a jerk and said he wanted to go back to his cell, he just wanted to go back to his cell, _his cell, please_.

Cash sighed and watched them leave with a concerned look, but as Bane let out a fearsome shout in the next room he turned his attention to help the three guards therein, assessing all the while if his job was even worth the effort he put in.

* * *

The light blue asylum uniform stuck to his skin as he writhed atop his bunk, sweating from the returning fever that ravaged him as he tried to lay still. Mr. Cash had told him to go back to the infirmary, but Jonathan had refused, stomping his foot like a child and threatening to hurt himself if he was forced. Cash gave up, instead telling Daedalus to look after him. Daedalus promised to call a guard if Jonathan's temperature got any worse.

Jonathan groaned and flipped to his side, pressing himself against the cool concrete next to his bed. He whimpered and tossed to his other side, then to the other, heaving in silent anguish as he felt the burning flesh of his forehead with his palm. Doodle slept soundly beneath him. This was hell. Truly hell. It was hell on earth, and he was there, living it, tasting it, breathing its noxious fumes amongst its dancing little devils and hearing himself scream as he burned alive.

_No, no don't let it get the best of you_, he coached himself. _Stay calm. Force it back_.

He gripped the sheets, his fingers contorting at the effort, and he focused on the ceiling through his sweat drenched bangs. _Jervis_, he chanted religiously, _Jervis, Jervis_…

As the night ebbed his fever subsided, but he kept his one word mantra on repeat in his mind. Dawn broke and he knew what he needed to do. He knew he couldn't bear Arkham's cage any longer. He knew he had to get out. Jervis and he- out for good.


	21. Forgiveness

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Forgiveness  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 4,817  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Edward Nigma, Daedalus Boch, Bane  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan sorts things out. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Edited.

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Forgiveness**

The infamous Elizabeth Arkham Asylum, erected back in the late 1800s, was originally designed according to the later discredited Kirkbride Plan, an architectural design system created by Philadelphia psychiatrist Thomas Story Kirkbride in the mid-19th century. Founded by Amadeus Arkham and named after his mentally ill mother, Elizabeth Arkham, the Asylum reigned as one of the most notable and well received mental treatment facilities of its time, until the 1940s governmental reform enforced all mental institutions to comply with new, up to date installations and refurbishments.

Thus, along with numerous other additions, the recreation room (in which Jonathan sat awaiting Jervis's much anticipated arrival) was constructed , allowing inmates to enjoy seemingly normal social situations and minor hobbies, and presenting the Asylum quote 'morally correct; more comfortably sound and conventional for its patients'.

Though comfort was instated, the continual use of Electroconvulsive Therapy and other barbaric experimental procedures remained in heavy use as top treatment selections for patients, it being widespread across the country as perfectly safe for decades, but with the steady rise of anti-depressants during the 1950s to the 1970s, the medical practice of ECT became increasingly uncommon, and Arkham moved the idle equipment to its basements.

Years later, through incompetence and bad publicity, Arkham Asylum: Home of the Criminally Insane, became a joke, a state run service employing minimum waged staff and security, with a revolving door policy allowing inmates to come and go as they pleased. The people of Gotham had fought to tear it down, however with the emergence of Gotham's dark knight, a new wave of masked criminals, petty thieves and psychotic madmen erupted, and so the Asylum was a means to an end, housing the felons either Black Gate Penitentiary could not or the ones too dangerous to keep in a standard prison.

Regardless of its awful reputation, Amadeus Arkham's third nephew, Dr. Jeremiah Arkham (who which Jonathan had never actually seen), continued the legacy his uncle had built, and when becoming head director of the institution purchased rigorous security technology, extra guards, and established a modern treatment plan considered highly effective for its day. The recovery rate at Arkham climbed to its all-time high, earning back a fraction of the respect it used to hold.

But it was still easy to escape. Too easy.

Jonathan stared at an abstract painting mounted on the wall, bouncing his leg with restless energy. The last few days had been tiring, what with his fever dipping out and rearing back in vengeance, but he was finally feeling well enough to attend his normal schedule. His rec. room privileges had increased, along with staff's trust in him, and it was nice to have his pick of literature to bring back to his cell, but nothing calmed him anymore… not since Bane.

He didn't want to think about it. Jervis was his current and constant focus, so he didn't have the time to feel rightfully violated as the one sacred enjoyment he'd known was torn from him like a tattered shirt. He was now opting to skip showering time at all costs, unless staff forced him to go.

As he waited, his eyes darting round the room to see Harvey dealing cards among two other inmates and Arnold Wesker toying with his doll, he spotted Edward reclined in a ratty cushioned chair facing one of the room's barred windows, gnawing on the tip of his dulled pencil as a guard stood by watching him with boredom.

The Riddler had been put on twenty-four hour supervision since the incident in the showers, and Jonathan had felt a bit responsible considering it was Edward who'd saved his sorry ass. Without Edward's protection, Jonathan knew that same ass would have been raped mercilessly, whether in the showering station or somewhere else, and he cringed at the memory of being trapped motionless against the wall as Bane crushed him from behind. He shivered and got to his feet, glancing longingly to the entrance once more before making his way to where Edward sat.

* * *

"_You should thank him," Daedalus said while sketching in their cell. "Seriously, you should."_

"_I don't know what I could ever possibly say to him," Jonathan replied, looking to the floor as if it had the answer._

"_Simple, you go up to him and you say, 'Thank you, Eddie,' and then you walk away. What's so hard 'bout that?"_

"_The man beat the shit out of me, Doodle, I don't really feel comfortable around him."_

_Just as Jonathan finished his explanation, three guards tramped by, ushering a bruised and battered Bane to a maximum security cell. Bane's face had become swollen and purple, compliments of guard staff, and he limped with every step he took, but somehow he managed to halt outside Jonathan's cell and peer through the bars, leering with a sinister look as he smiled faintly and puckered out his lips. Jonathan said nothing and turned his face away. Eventually the guards persuaded Bane to continue, and Jonathan silently sighed in relief, thankful the mammoth man's dark eyes were no longer lewdly glaring at him._

"_Seriously," Daedalus started again as Jonathan pulled his legs to his chest. "You need to thank him."_

"_I know."_

"_No, you don't know." Daedalus rested back against their toilet with a serious look. "You remember that Clarence guy 'bout a year or two ago? Kinda' my height, kinda' skinny, quiet all the time?"_

"_Yeah… yes, I remember him." _

"_Well, that guy? He was taken to Gotham General after Bane." Daedalus shook his head and gave Jonathan a stern look. "So no, you don't know. You have no idea what Bane does to his bitches." _

"_Jesus…" Jonathan licked his lips. "I didn't think… I didn't think Bane was… well, you know, gay." He tried to chuckle._

"_You've gotta be kidding me." Daedalus snorted with a frown. "It has nothing to do with being gay or straight. It has everything to do with who's on top, who's in charge, who's feared and who's not." He stuck out his finger. "You never had to deal with this shit because your name, the name of Scarecrow, carried weight in here." He withdrew his finger then, crossing his arms. _

"_Wait a minute, wait. I'm still the Scarecrow, I still carry that name."_

"_Yeah but that name… that name don't really mean anythin' anymore, Jon."_

_Jonathan bit the knuckle of his first finger in fret, glimpsing out at the empty corridor._

"_Now…" Daedalus shook his head. "Fuck, Jon, everyone from Gotham all the way to fucking Metropolis knows."_

_This can't be, Jonathan thought. It's a bad dream, a nightmare. "Oh my god… Jervis…" he whispered to himself._

"_I'd be more worried about my own ass then his, man," Daedalus said. "You're lil' coming out party is more of a shock then anything Tetch has ever done."_

"_What do you mean?" _

"_Really, Jon?" Daedalus gave him an arched brow. "Everyone knows the Hatter's queer. Capitol fucking 'Q'." _

_Jonathan shot him a nasty glare, but couldn't blame him for thinking the same. Looking back he could see it, could catch the signs, but he'd never really noticed, nor cared, about Jervis's sexuality then. He let out a worried sigh and put a hand to his cheek. "Well, what the fuck, Doodle," he suddenly said, vexed. "You're the one who was like 'does he make you smile?' I thought you'd be more on my side about this."_

"_Hey," Daedalus held his hands up in defense, "don't blame me here, you were the one frenchin' 'em in the caff, not me."_

_Jonathan growled and rolled his eyes, turning away in frustration._

"_Look, Crane," Daedalus said. "As much as you'd like to think this is high school, it ain't." He rose to his feet and leaned against the wall. "You're dame lucky you didn't get the shit pounded outta you. You're lucky Eddie felt like stickin' his neck out for your ass, man, protecting you without anythin' in return."_

"_What?" _

"_Think about it. If Eddie really wanted, he could have made you chose." Doodle sniffed loudly, as if their conversation about prison rape was one he had on a weekly basis. "You're in a position that's to his benefit. He could have said 'who's gonna be your daddy, Jon? Me or Bane.'" He shifted his raised hands back and forth like a scale, giving a quick after thought. "Personally? I'd choose Ed. He seems like he'd let you ride top once in a while."_

"_I can' believe you're even suggesting this!" Jonathan covered his ears. "What the fuck is WRONG with you people?!"_

_Daedalus shrugged his shoulders. "That's the way the prison works, baby."_

_Jonathan rubbed his face in his palms, breaking to peek between his fingers. "And what about you, Daedalus, you won't stick up for me?"_

"_Are you fucking shittin' me?! I ain't getting' between you and Bane, have you seen how fuckin' HUGE he is?"_

"_No, Doodle, I've never really noticed," Jonathan said and sneered. "Especially not after he jumped me in the FUCKING SHOWER."_

_Daedalus threw up his hands in defeat as Jonathan buried his face in his palms. What if that had been the goal all along? What if Edward saw a chance, an opportunity to pin the object of his desires into submission, to force Jonathan to be with him though Jonathan refused? _

_Oh shit… he thought with a heavy heart. That's it. This was planned… oh my god, it had to be planned. His bottom lip began to quiver, and he looked to Daedalus as small tears welled up in his eyes. "Daedalus…" His voice wavered. "What do I do?"_

"_Now, now," the artist tucked a thin black dread behind his ear as he spoke, "you don't know for sure what his angle is… he could want you to, you know, solve some stupid riddle or sumthin'. Or maybe he wants you to help him escape…" He paused. "Or maybe he… you know… did it out of the kindness of his heart?"_

_At that Jonathan burst into tears, sobbing with huge heaves as he perched on his bunk. Daedalus tried to interject, to calm him down, but Jonathan couldn't stop the scene unfolding in his mind, that awful tragedy where Edward commanded him to lie to his lover, to reject Jervis to keep Edward's protection for them both. Who knew, Edward's reach might have snagged more than just Bane into his pocket, and if Jonathan ignited that anger in refusal again, the consequences were sure to fall on Jervis, that being the more advantageous strategy by far. _

_Shit. It would only make sense. It was blackmail, pure and simple._

_The real question was could he go through with it? Could he break Jervis's heart if it guaranteed the man's safety? A more threatening, wicked vision played in his mind, one where instead of it being him crushed against the tiled wall of Arkham's shower house it was Jervis. _

_A time ago, not too long it seemed, he wouldn't have thought twice over the notion, deciding it a situation of survival; a not so unfortunate necessity for his wellbeing, and he wouldn't have lost a wink of sleep. But now, the gentle feel of Jervis's arms wrapped around his neck as they dozed beneath the scant cover of the bed's sheets was like the life-bringing touch of rain after a long drought. It filled him; it nourished his soul. _

_A small giggle escaped him, and before he knew it he was cackling through his tears as Daedalus watched him with concern. To Jonathan, the very thought of himself, the master of fear, caring so deeply about some stupid blonde wretch made him laugh even harder. It was absurd. Daedalus began to speak but Jonathan put up his hand, hushing his cellmate with a finger. _

"_I'm sorry, Doodle," he said and crowed again. He attempted to stifle himself with a palm over his mouth. "I'm, I'm sorry." Tears poured from his eyes while the glee continued to roll off his tongue._

"_Have you gone friggen' crazy?" Daedalus asked him. _

"_Mmyep," Jonathan replied. "But if I am then I'm in the right place, eh, Doodle?" He let out a strange kind of titter, a cat-like hiss that became a sort of grunt. "We're just… we're all mad here, Doodle!" A garish grin took over his face._

"_So… what are you gonna' do?"_

_Jonathan finally ceased his frantic hysterics and wiped his fists beneath his eyes, striving to dry his cheeks, but new tears promptly fell were the others once were, and he left them to cloud his vision without a care. "Whatever I have to, Daedalus," he answered as the tears kept coming. "Whatever I have to."_

* * *

Jonathan finally got close enough to Edward, standing behind the man in his tattered chair. The on looking guard gave Jonathan a glimpse but didn't say anything, and Jonathan surveyed the room once more for Jervis before clearing his throat and speaking up. "Name," he said softly. His shoulders hunched.

Edward turned in surprise to peer unthinkingly at Jonathan. "What?" he asked in confusion as his pencil drifted above the crossword.

Jonathan wet his lips before answering. "Name…" he said again. "Your answer… fifty-eight down. Belongs to you but used by others? The answer is _name_."

Edward gave him a blank look, his mouth hanging as the cogs inside his head switched gears. "What do you want?" he said, his mouth curling into a frown.

"I… I…" Jonathan tried to say. They both paused for a few moments as Edward glared up at him, and Jonathan noticed the man's left eye and neck were visibly bruised, a small token from his scrap with Cash and the Tweeds no doubt. The Riddler looked tired, as if he hadn't slept, and his eyes were a peculiar kind of puffy. It was not a Riddler Jonathan was accustomed to seeing. Usually Edward looked debonair, with a solid kind of charismatic charm.

But there was no charm in his emerald eyes as he snarled. "What do you _want_?"

"I'm sorry," Jonathan said. He stepped back. "I just wanted… I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me for _what_?" Edward had scribbled dark slashes in the four squares under the number fifty-eight.

Jonathan tucked his chin and bit his lip. "I'll always be in your debt… I… I have nothing to repay you with." He watched as Edward began filling in more answers to his puzzle.

"Don't mention it," the man said.

Jonathan wheezed in relief as he realized he was off the hook. He turned to walk back towards the couch when Edward said his name. "Hold on." There was a pause. "Actually, there _is_ something you can do for me."

_Shit, here it comes_.

"You can…" Edward started, taking his eyes off his crossword to peer into Jonathan's. "You can forgive me."

"What?" Jonathan asked in disbelief.

Edward exhaled and drew his hand through his hair, mussing the brown waves as he looked down at his crossword. "For what I did to you," he said low. "That's what you can do for me. If you ever can." He looked grim.

"Eddie…" Jonathan had the hint of a smile.

"Don't say my name."

Jonathan blinked. He swallowed hard. "Of course I can forgive you."

Edward nodded and turned away, and Jonathan was about to stroll back to his seat, a massive weight lifted from off his shoulders, but Edward called his name a second time and he halted to hear what more the man had to say. "That's all well and good." Edward dabbed the lead of his pencil against his tongue. "But let's just get one thing straight. I don't give a rat's dirty ass about your little shit stain. He can rot in hell for all I care."

Jonathan became tense, his feet heavy, like bricks cemented to the floor.

"Know that, Jon. Know that words cannot describe how much I fucking _loathe_ him."

Jonathan's hands began to wring together, and he tried to speak. "Eddie…"

"Oh, look." Edward tipped his head towards the entrance behind Jonathan. "Here's our little inbred pig-fucker now."

Jonathan glanced over his shoulder to see Jervis walk in, the man's deep blue eyes glancing about as he registered his fellow inmates, clearly searching for his companion.

"Edward-"

"You won't have any more problems, you _or_ him. But I can't guarantee my strings won't be cut. My pull here is only so much, and it depends on the good graces of… certain people." Edward's jaw tightened and he gave Jonathan the back of his head. "So I suggest you figure something out with your little blonde bitch before the tides change."

Jonathan stood still, his brows creased. Edward flicked his hand. "You should go to him."

Jonathan thought the same and propelled himself away, making sure to approach Jervis in control. _Strange_… he mulled, lingering over Edward's behavior. It was a curious matter indeed, but he pushed the thought aside and told himself to speak to Jervis about it later, for he realized his squat partner had caught sight of him.

A month or so back, Daedalus had told him to watch the PDA, and Jonathan had tried to explain to him how two, maybe three nights a week of intimacy with his lover was simply not enough, but the black man wouldn't stop stressing the importance of keeping a low profile, especially while the gossip was still hot off the press like a fresh newspaper. Except it wasn't just Jonathan that needed to cool it in public. Jervis had always been a hard man to win over, and he wasn't exactly a low profile kind of guy, so those innocent little caresses against Jonathan's arm, or those sweet kisses they exchanged before being separated for the day continued despite control or not. _Don't fuel the fire, Crane_. Doodle had made some good points, but Jonathan retorted with the definition of the word addiction, and the conversation had ended there.

The way Jonathan figured, he could go insane either in one of two ways; either from the unstoppable bullying of his tormentors within Arkham, or from the lack of Jervis's physical affections. It was an easy choice when put like that.

A smile draped his face against his will as Jervis bounded towards him, and he let himself break to one knee as his companion flung against his chest. Jonathan held him tight.

"Oh, Jonathan," Jervis cooed, sounding almost like a scared child. It was funny how that picture surfaced in Jonathan's mind, of Jervis like that… childlike and vulnerable, though he knew the man was far, far from it. "Are you alright?" Jervis fussed as Jonathan breathed in the scent of his hair.

"Yeah… don't worry about me, I'm fine." He took another deep breath in front of the other inmates. "My fever's pretty much gone."

"I don't mean that." Jervis pulled away to look him in the eyes. "I mean-"

"Everything's fine, Jervis." Jonathan yanked him back into their embrace. "Nothing happened. I'm completely fine."

"Oh thank god." Jervis slumped into his arms. "I thought… I… well, I heard rumors. Horrible rumors."

"They were just that. Rumors."

"Oh, those fucking lack-wit cousins," Jervis said with a growl. "God _damn_ them."

"It's not worth getting upset over, Jervis," Jonathan said as he stood. "Trust me."

"Not worth getting _upset_ over?" Jervis threw up his hands. "They did this to get back at me, I guarantee it; for refusing to be part of their stupid _wonderland society_ thing."

Jonathan had taken the man's hand and guided him to one of the small two-seated chess tables along the west wall. The setting sun shone through the nearby barred window, casting sharp shadows from the pieces that lay in a mess of black and white plastic upon the board. The game was new so it still held its pawns and rooks, its knights and bishops. Someone might eventually snatch one of the queens though, proclaiming themselves high lord of the kingdom of Arkham and demanding the lowly peasants pay tribute by professing their fealty, that is, until they were clobbered by a guard and dragged back to their cell. Fortunately that hadn't happened yet, so the two men could yet enjoy a game.

"Wonderland Gang?" Jonathan said the as they sat down. He started to separate the chess pieces and set them up, black on his side, white on Jervis's.

"I don't often put things like this but the very thought was retarded." Jervis's nose crinkled as if he'd smelt something bad.

"Maybe that's why they're pissed," Jonathan smirked. "The brilliant Mad Hatter shot down their idea."

"I was so worried… because of me… what they could have done-"

"But they didn't," Jonathan said sharply. He instantly regretted his tone. Jervis quieted, skimming across the wall of white pawns set before him. Jonathan reached out his hand and placed it atop his partner's.

"Will you come to me tonight?" He gave the other man's hand a gentle squeeze.

Jervis gazed up, the orange light from the sunset painting his face a golden hue, dancing off the reflective glimmer of his yellow hair in dazzling little winks. "The question is, when have I never?" he answered with an impish grin. He waited.

"White first," Jonathan said.

* * *

That night they lay together side by side in Jonathan's bed, spooning peacefully while Daedalus slept in the bunk below. They'd had sex; Jervis receiving, as usual, and Jonathan holding out his own satisfaction until his partner was spent. It was a good routine, and though there was still a knot in Jonathan's gut, he was sure the path he'd recently descended was the one to his salvation. His admittance of his feelings for Jervis was a big step, or so that was what Doctor Leland had told him. It would take some time, but eventually he could see himself coming to terms with his sexuality. Besides, he didn't want to keep living a lie, and solace could be found in the truth. Yes the truth, it seemed, had set him free, and though the phrase was cliché, Jonathan couldn't have found it more precise.

"I love you, Jonathan…" Jervis whispered without warning.

"Heh…" Jonathan flinched. "Uh…" He swallowed hard. "Just give me time, Jervis. This is new to me."

Jervis nodded and Jonathan could feel the man's hair tickle his neck and chin.

"You know, I've been thinking," Jonathan said after a few moments, "about us… about Arkham..."

Jervis stayed silent, but tilted his head as if to say 'I'm listening'.

"We need to get out of here-"

"_Ugh_, I completely agree," the shorter man interrupted. "So what's your plan?"

Jonathan shifted against his lover, making the other man roll to view him in the dim light of dawn's early break through the asylum. "We get better," he said.

Jervis paused in thought. "Oh! That's a great idea… Though I must warn you, I've tried it before and it can be quite the task convincing-"

"No," Jonathan said. "No, that's not what I mean, Jervis."

"Well, I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I mean we get better. We _recover_. Follow treatment, go to therapy, take our medication, the whole bit."

Jervis looked up at him, a worried expression on his face. "You mean we just… stop? For good?" He propped himself up on the flimsy pillow. "So… no more doing what we want, when we want to?"

"More like gaining some crucial independence," Jonathan replied. "This life we live… there's no real freedom in it, Jerv."

Jervis didn't know what to say, so Jonathan continued. "There's nothing here for us going the way we're going. We'll… we'll _die_ like this, Jervis, if we don't change."

"You ask quite a lot of me."

"Jervis, if anyone's capable of this, it's you."

Jervis shook his head slowly, and Jonathan could make out the lines around the man's lips as they formed a frown. He'd never seen his blonde companion look so much older in that moment, and he knew he'd forgotten himself thinking he was the man's peer. In truth, Jonathan was a good nine years younger than Jervis, and it made him feel somewhat naive in comparison, as if thinking he could teach the old dog new tricks was a mere child's folly, but he was determined to convince his lover of what they could accomplish if they would only try. He took Jervis by the chin and studied the man's face, trying to appear wise, thought he didn't feel it in the least. "I know you can do anything you put your mind to, Jervis," he spoke soft, the words flowing easily. "I know you. You're extremely gifted and clever. You're a genius. And whatever you want, you go for, like a tiger. No one can stop you, not even the Bat. And you know what else?"

"What?" Jervis asked in a small, quiet voice.

"You _always_ get what you go for. That I know." Jonathan smiled, hoping his words would catch.

Jervis rolled on his back to stare at the ceiling and placed his palm over his mouth, covering what might have been a frown, but Jonathan could read his partner's appearance even in a darkness black as pitch. Those eyes could never lie to him.

"I…" Jervis lingered, his hand on his chin. "I-I'm not so sure I can do what you say. There are things… memories I don't think I can face."

"Memories?" Jonathan asked, mesmerized by the fierce blue of his partner's iris. "Like with your mother?"

Jervis shut his eyes, extinguishing their luminescence and freeing Jonathan from their entrancing hold. "I don't really know… I… I mean, I know I _know_, but it's like there's… there's this giant black door, and the memories are locked behind it. I can sense them there, and I could open it but there's this terrible, awful, foreboding feeling as I approach." He clutched his hands to his chest, his brows creasing. "It makes me sick just talking about it. It terrifies me."

In the past, Jonathan might have been inclined to ask more, to poke and prod the reasons for this juicy terror, desperate to find its source and possibly utilize it, reproduce it even. But now, as Jervis trembled beside him, he could only think to comfort, his heart swelling with compassion at what he well understood. He collected Jervis into his arms, making the bed squeak, and Daedalus muttered something below, but soon started to snore as his breathing deepened.

"You don't have to open it now," Jonathan said, brushing back some of Jervis's hair. "You can wait, gather your strength, and make sure you have support. Then, when the time is right you can face it. I'll be there and I can hold your hand if you want me to."

Jervis chuckled throatily. "I'm not a child, Jonathan."

"I know." _Sometimes it's hard to tell._

"But, that would be nice." Jervis sighed. "So… no more Wonderland?" He curled his lower lip in an exaggerated frown.

"No more Wonderland," Jonathan replied. "Except the kind we create."

"I do so love that kind."

"I like it, too."

They cuddled close, their noses rubbing, and Jonathan internally rolled his eyes at how sappy he'd become. It was nice though… he'd forgotten how dreamy romance felt, how pleasant it was to hold someone, though the few someone's he had held before had all been girls. Still, whatever the gender, his awakened heart longed for that connection, and he found it there with Jervis, tender and warm and cute like a puppy with big glassy eyes. _Ugh_. As Jonathan thought of kicking that stupid dogs face in, he and Jervis started to kiss, but before delving too deep he spoke up. "Jervis?"

"Hm?" Jervis responded in a daze.

"Will you forgive me?"

"Huh?" Jervis rarely looked dumbfounded, so Jonathan had to stifle a laugh at the sight.

"Forgive me," he repeated.

"Forgive you for what? Making me achieve the world's fastest orgasm?" Jervis bit at his neck. "I think I can forgive you for that."

Jonathan cupped the base of his partner's head, nuzzling against the man's splendid hair. "I mean for treating you… like I did. Before."

Jervis purred and nipped harder, and Jonathan felt his cock twitch. "I forgive you," he growled against the Jonathan's neck. "I forgive you everything."

"Oh, yeah?" Daedalus suddenly said. "Well forgive _this_."

A loud fart emitted from the bunk below, and Jonathan almost barked in laughter, instead bobbing his head in silence as a few tears seeped their way through his lashes. Jervis mouthed a curse and shook his head, a smile snaking its way on his face, though he looked more pissed at the mood killing flatulence then amused.

"Do me and everyone else here a favor," Daedalus said. "And go the _fuck to sleep_."


	22. Fearless

Chapter Title: Fearless  
Story Title: Black & White  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 4,091  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Doctor Joan Leland, Edward Nigma, Daedalus Boch  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: R  
Summary: Jonathan makes a formal request. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

**Authors Note: **Ok, so I'm not sure what everyone envisions when they think of Doctor Leland, and I'm pretty sure I've portrayed her as white in the previous chapters, but regardless I'm going to portray her as African American throughout this story. Sorry for the confusion.

**P.S.** This chapter goes out to **SeaGerdy** for her wonderful piece done for this fic. Check it out on deviant art under her handle, it's named **'Night of Opposites'**. I am ever thankful Gerdy, you are amazing. I look forward to seeing any future updates, batman related or not, as this person is a fantastic artist.

**UPDATE**

I've completed my revision of most of the previous chapters in Black & White- though I wish I could do more- and now it is up and ready to be read. There are a few changes, spruced up wording, cut out crap, and change in sex scenes, etc. I like the updates, and hopefully you do as well. I have the latest chapter- 23- on the back burner, as well as a one shot in the works, but those should be out soon.

Thank you for your patience in this. I know a lot of people have said the story didn't need a revision, but I feel better knowing it's had a good work-through.

If there is any comments of concerns about the story shoot me a line via or on my deviant art. Let me know if you like the changes, or if you hate them. Either way it's cool.

-crowscrow

**P.S.** And check out the awesome piece by GabbyVee on deviant art. The latest piece is titled 'Crowscrow Commish'. Or go to my deviant art and find it on the newest journal post. She is nice.

**Fearless**

"Absolutely not." Joan crossed her arms. She sat in her leather swivel chair trying to look the strict psychiatrist she wished she was, but she could tell by Jonathan's expression she was failing.

"I know it's a lot to ask, Joan," Jonathan said. "But if you'd-"

"But nothing," she interrupted. "It's a hell of a lot to ask. And it's _Doctor_ _Leland_." She turned away for a moment as if in thought, her black curly hair dangling above the padded shoulders of her white jacket. "I don't think you understand the political risks involved with a request like this, Jonathan. It's a major decision not only for me but for the rest of Arkham's administration. There are a number of psychological and physical factors that need to be taken into account before pairing inmates."

"I realize that," Jonathan said. "Really, I do, but if you'd just take a second-"

"_No_."

Jonathan flinched at the response, his normally indifferent eyes showing a hint of distress. He looked hurt, and Joan had to sigh to keep from apologizing. "Look, Jonathan," she said, "don't you think this is a bit hasty? You've only been in treatment for a few months. Maybe we can revisit this at a later date when you've gotten more… settled."

Jonathan looked at her with the biggest pair of doe eyes she'd ever seen, staring at her miserably as if she had just told him she'd shot his family for their pelts. She glanced at her watch to check the time. _Good lord, why can't you just get angry at me like you used to_, she thought as the second hand moved one minute closer to three o'clock. They still had twenty minutes.

Joan put her hand to her mouth and rubbed as she thought about the complications of her patient's request. Jonathan had been taking his medication, sleeping well at night, and was responding to treatment with amazing effect, but she was still wary to let him and Jervis share a cell. There was no telling what could happen if things got out of hand and if they did she could lose her job, but seeing Jonathan so unhappy made her think twice about the good it might do for him and Jervis both. "Let me see what I can pull," she finally said.

Jonathan's face lit up. "Oh Joan, I can't thank you enough. I swear you won't regret-"

"Hold on, don't go thanking me just yet. I said let me see what I can pull. First I have to speak with Doctor Bartholomew in regards to Jervis. Jervis is his patient, not mine. Then I have to run it by Doctor Arkham. After all that maybe we can work something out."

Jonathan nodded. He looked positively elated and Joan couldn't help but feel empowered from her patient's joy. After all, her patient's happiness was her happiness. Or at least that's what she told herself. Still, though Jonathan was pleased, she had to worry about her own butt. "If I do this you have to promise me there won't be any sort of… dereliction of the rules while you and Jervis are under Arkham's care." She tapped her pen, unsure whether he got the implication or not. She felt like a mother telling her son to leave his door open while a girl was in his room.

"Of course," Jonathan replied. He sat up straight and attentive. "We'll be on our best behavior. You won't hear a peep from us, I swear."

_Maybe he's not getting it. _"I know you'll be considerate," she said. "And I have to admit you've both been very good about the rules. But I'm more concerned with any… um, not saying that you do, but any… shall we say, _intimacies_ that might transpire from your being celled together." She twiddled her thumbs.

"Oh… Oh, I understand what you're… getting at."

Joan looked up and saw his cheeks slightly red. She went on saying, "I'm sure you can understand my bringing it up. As you probably know we've never had to deal with any inmates who have… non-platonic relations with each other, except for maybe a few in different wards of the asylum."

"You can say it, Joan." Jonathan scratched his neck and gave her an awkward smile. "We're a… couple. I know exactly what you're getting at."

For a moment Joan considered ending the discussion there, but seeing her patient so at ease with the topic made her chance asking that nagging question she'd wanted to know from day one. "So you do, then?" she asked. "Have sex that is."

Jonathan looked horrified for a split second before composing his answer. "We… do. Yes, we have sex."

"That's very good." Joan smiled. Then she realized what she'd just said. "I-I mean when it's not here. Or well, rather when it's not in Arkham. We can't knowingly permit sexual acts between inmates on our premises. I'm sorry."

"It's understandable."

"So if I'm to let this request pass I'll need a full guarantee from you and Jervis that nothing physical, and I mean absolutely _nothing_, will go on behind those bars."

Jonathan looked unsure of what to say, but he slowly nodded his head in spite of himself. Joan wasn't sure what to say either, so she did the same. She glanced down at her watch again.

"Fourteen minutes left. You still want to talk?"

"I'm good." Jonathan looked irritable, but she expected as much. At least that was a feeling she was familiar with.

"I'll put that request into motion," she said almost apologetically. "If all works out we should be able to move you within the week."

She got up from her seat to escort her now peeved patient to the door, thinking all the while how attractive he looked in his sky blue Arkham uniform, with his pasty complexion contrasted by his dark chestnut hair and his big doe eyes that made her want to give him everything. Then she realized she needed to start seeing more people.

* * *

Jonathan paced back and forth across the concrete floor of his cell, waiting for word about the request he'd placed with Doctor Leland four days ago. He wanted so badly to be with Jervis that it barely mattered that she had forbade him from physical contact with his partner, though he knew that so-called agreement wasn't going to last very long. He could promise her anything until he was blue in the face, but Jervis was another story. Trying to prohibit Jervis from doing anything was like daring him to do it regardless of if he wanted to do said thing or not.

"Will you si'down, Crane?" Daedalus asked. He was doodling in his sketching pad as always. "You're startin' to give me a headache."

"I really hope this cell change goes through, Doodle," Jonathan said. He turned around to start pacing in the other direction. "I mean, if I can only see Jervis a couple hours a week I think I'm gonna' go crazy."

Daedalus snorted. "Seriously, I think Tetch is some kinda' drug because you been pacing round here like a damn crackhead."

Jonathan laughed. "Maybe he is. Maybe I'm addicted. He does have that effect, you know."

"The crack effect?" Daedalus raised a brow. "If that's true I want some."

"Yeah, well, there ain't enough of him to go around." Jonathan turned to grip the bars of their cell. He peered out to see a large guard come up with a pink slip of paper.

"Jonathan Steven Crane?" the guard asked.

Jonathan waved his open palm. "Right here."

"Your request for a cell change has been granted by administration," the guard read from the paper in a monotone voice. "I've been directed here to transfer you to your new cell."

"_Yes_!" Jonathan's fist clenched and he motioned his elbow back in victory.

"Hey, congrats," Daedalus said.

"Get your things, Mr. Crane. I have instructions to move you now."

_Mr. Crane_? Jonathan could tell the man was new. He quickly gathered the few belongings he was allowed, such as his spare uniform, his toothbrush, his two books, and his deodorant. He tucked the items under his arms and stood before the cell door, waiting for the guard to let him out. "Bye, Doodle," he said somewhat sadly. "It's been fun."

"Yeah, yeah," Daedalus replied without a care.

With a cheerful smile Jonathan followed the guard to his new cell, trying to hide the jaunty skip in his step. They approached their destination and Jonathan practically squealed in delight at seeing Jervis there to greet him.

"Well, well," Jervis said with his arms resting through the bars, "if it isn't Jonathan Crane here to share my sorrowful cell; perhaps he'll brighten the gloom."

Jonathan licked his lips. Jervis had been looking especially handsome the past few days, though the man had been a bit distant. Maybe it was the fact that they weren't supposed to, but Jonathan could have pounced on the shorter man like a wild jungle cat if it weren't for the guard in their presence. Instead he stepped through the barred doorway and threw his things on the bottom bunk in anticipation of being alone with his partner. His signature was required to complete the cell change so he scribbled his name on the pink sheet. The guard thanked him, closed the cell door, and walked away. Jonathan observed his new quarters and eyed up his new cellmate with a grin. "Can you believe it? I'm your new roomie."

"I suppose we would've had to take the next step in our relationship sooner or later." Jervis stuck up his nose.

"This is great, Jerv. We'll have to thank our therapists."

The blonde man grunted. "Robert had nothing to do with this. He told me himself he wasn't going to let it happen. Said it would be 'detrimental' to my recovery. Fat _fuck_ doesn't know anything."

Jonathan went to Jervis's bunk and sat down, noticing the book about psychotic disorders rested on the thin covering with a piece of paper wedged halfway through the middle. "Must have been all Joan," he said and flipped through the pages.

"My, my, Jonathan, what sort of trick did you have to turn to get her to make this come about? I dare say our poor Joan has quite the eye for unavailable men. Or does she?"

Jonathan ignored the comment and got up from the bunk to stretch his limbs. His stomach growled. "I can't wait to eat." He looked at Jervis.

"I have something you can eat right here." Jervis cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "It's chock full of protein. You'll have to suck it out though, but I know it's something you'd enjoy. Maybe it'll hold you over until dinner time."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "What's gotten into you?"

"Ah, but it's what's gotten into _you_ that I'm troubled about." Jervis scowled and perched on his bunk.

"What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

"_You're a lying whore._"

"What?" Jonathan could barely believe his ears.

"You heard me." Jervis hopped off his bunk and stalked to the other side of their cell. He suddenly turned, rage in his eyes. "You fucking slut, how could you do this to me?!"

At first Jonathan stepped back in shock, then took two steps forward in anger. "Don't call me that."

"Why? That's what you are, am I not right?" Jervis's words were daring. "By definition, one given to immoral or improper conducts, generally of a sexual nature. In other words a slut- i.e. _you_."

Jonathan tightened his fist and shut his eyes, repeating to himself to stay calm. The last thing he wanted to do was to hit his partner, as he promised himself he would never again commit such an act, but Jervis was trying his patience immeasurably. The accusation itself was one thing, but the sheer intensity of that accusation was another, and it caught him off guard so much that all he could do was stay quiet.

"Do you need me to give you some examples, dear?" Jervis circled his partner like a predator circling its prey. "Alright let's see. When one is a slut, one tends to give head regardless of time or location. Oh, and said slut also enjoys turning tricks in their bunk late at night. Hmm, and let's not forget the favors they do for their _therapist_." He threw one of Jonathan's books across the cell. It slammed against the brick wall and thumped to the floor. "I should have known. Why else would Nigma stick his neck out for you, let alone _me_? You let him fuck your virgin ass, _didn't you_? Didn't you, you filthy _whore_!"

Jonathan was at a loss for words. He stood in silence while Jervis went on, calling him a dirty piece of useless garbage, a nauseating tart, a cheap dishonest whore with two filthy holes. He put a hand to his mouth and tried to blink back the small tears that threatened to wet his cheeks, but they inevitably fell. Any retort he had was instantly caught in his throat as Jervis flung his spare uniform to the floor and spat on it.

"Off with your head!" Jervis yelled. "Off with it! Consider yourself single!"

Jonathan snapped from his stupor. "Jervis. S-sweetheart, we can talk about this. I-I would never do anything to hurt you, not at this point." He took a shaky breath. "Let's just sit down and-"

"Save your excuses, whore!" Jervis shouted. "Why don't you run back to your little mystery lover, hm? Hah, get it? _Mystery_? I'm sure our Eddie could fill your disgusting hole well enough to keep you content! At least for a little while!" With that said Jervis seethed and faced the corner of their cell with his arms crossed.

Jonathan staggered towards the bottom bunk and sat. He didn't want to cry, not over something as ridiculous as Jervis's display of unreasonable- and not to mention completely unfounded- jealousy, but the tears kept falling nonetheless. Jervis didn't budge from his corner, not even when Jonathan let out a strangled sob, but in short time they were both escorted to the mess hall and placed in line among their fellow inmates. Jonathan had stopped crying, though his eyes were still red, but the expression he wore was as stiff as a board.

Jervis grabbed a tray and went through the dinner line without looking back, his head held high, while Jonathan followed after him like a faithful dog. When they exited Jervis didn't wait for Jonathan to accompany him, but marched towards his table like a man on a mission. Jonathan walked a bit faster, his long stride easily keeping him at pace with his companion.

Jervis suddenly stopped and jerked his thumb to the nearby table. "Why don't you go sit with your new man?"

Edward glanced up with a raised brow while chewing on his sandwich. Across from him sat Daedalus and Warren White, both occupied by their own meals and means of permitted distraction. Edward glared at Jervis but said nothing.

"Please, Jervis…" Jonathan said.

"What's wrong?" Jervis asked. "You don't need my permission. Why, I don't think you've ever needed my permission to do anything, Jonathan." He turned and gave Edward fake smile. "Be gentle with him won't you, Edward? He bruises like a delicate flower."

"Huh?" Edward said. His mouth hung open, showing bits of half-chewed sandwich.

"Jervis," Jonathan said tersely.

"Don't _Jervis_ me. It's become clear we have very different views about commitment."

From across the aisle the Joker began to laugh, a loud hearty laugh that caught the attention of several inmates at his table. "Lookie here, Harv. A lover's spat."

Two-face flipped his coin. "Drama," he said with a deep growl, "its one side of the coin."

"And here I am without my rec. room privileges." Joker clapped his hands in glee and called out from his seat. "Hit 'em, Hat! Punch him in the face! Jonny's been a naughty boy, _ah HAH HAH_!"

"Jervis," Jonathan whispered behind clenched teeth, "to the table. _Now_."

"Fuck you!" Jervis yelled. He threw his tray to the floor, the contents splattering over Jonathan's issued Asylum shoes. "I'm not your fucking property! I can't believe you'd this to me!"

"You tell 'em, little man!" Joker called.

In the midst of everyone's bellowing two broad guards came forth, bearing their batons in caution. "Crane! Get to your seat now!"

"Jervis, _please_!" Jonathan was becoming frantic.

"You're such a lying piece of shit!"

"Get em', Tetch!"

"Crane!"

Without thinking, Jonathan dropped his tray and fell to his knees in front of his lover, the scattered remnants of their wasted food covering his pant legs. He didn't care. He took Jervis's hands tightly in his own. "Please. Jervis, I'm begging you," he said softly. He could see the two guards approaching them from the corner of his eye, joined by a third with a two-way radio at the ready. "I swear to you, Jervis, I would never betray you. Not now. Not after all we've been through. Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm lying."

Jervis did so, his baby blues softening when met with Jonathan's gaze.

"Please." Jonathan bit his lip. "Let's go sit down before we get in trouble."

After a moment Jervis surrendered, his chin tucking low. "Ok…"

Jonathan exhaled in relief and got to his feet, the food from his pant legs plopping to the floor with the rest of the slop already there. He took Jervis by the hand and walked fast toward their table, tugging the man along like a parent would a small child. Jervis took his seat quickly, but before Jonathan could take his own one of the guards shouted his name.

"Crane!" The man pointed at the floor. "Get the hell over here and clean this mess up!"

Jonathan ground his teeth but walked to the pile of spilt food in a composed manner. He was given a towel, a sponge, and a bucket of sanitized water. He started scrubbing. A few inmates sniggered while the Joker booed from his seat. "That wasn't a fight! Hell, that wasn't even a scuff. The Bat and I have more robust arguments playing checkers! You _suck_, Crane!" The other inmates joined in.

Jonathan let the insults roll off him as if he didn't care, but it was hard sitting on his knees cleaning the muddled shit from the floor while the inmates around taunted him, calling him 'pretty Josephine'. It would have been easier if his lover hadn't been the cause of such commotion, but he decided he'd have a long chat with Jervis once they reached their cell.

By the end of dinner Jonathan had successfully cleared his and Jervis's food from the floor, but he was still pissed. He wasn't going to let this one slide, hell no. As the guards gathered the inmates in two separate orderly lines and escorted them all back to their cells, Jonathan played out the dispute he knew he'd have with Jervis upon their return. Once reaching their room, and once the guards had vanished, Jonathan spun around and gave Jervis the meanest, darkest, most enraged look he could muster. "What in the _HELL WAS THAT_?" he said.

Jervis shied away and put his hands up, looking as if he was going to cry. "I'm sorry…" he said in a pitiful voice.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Jervis! What was that all about?!"

Jervis's bottom lip began to tremble.

"_Well_?"

Jervis sunk back against the wall with his shoulders hunched and cried. Jonathan slapped his palm to his forehead in frustration but stopped the yelling, as it was obviously getting him nowhere. The blonde man sniveled pathetically and Jonathan shook his head when realizing his spare change of pants had been spit on with a rather large wad of phlegm. Well, that option went out the window fast. He paused, rubbing his temples while Jervis continued to blubber. He threw the pants aside, took a deep breath, and knelt to stroke his companion's face, remembering how hard it had been to comfort before the medication had kicked in.

"You're… you're not mad?" Jervis whimpered.

"Of course I'm mad," Jonathan said. "But I still care about you."

"I'm sorry," Jervis replied. "I… I heard so many rumors… They said you were going behind my back, betraying me."

Jonathan brushed his partner's tear dampened bangs aside. "Why would you listen to any of that? Why wouldn't you just talk to me?"

"I… I don't know." Jervis buried his head into Jonathan's chest and resumed his crying.

Jonathan took another deep breath and hushed his partner, gently running his hands down the length of the man's shuddering spine.

"Oh, I hate it here, Jonathan!" Jervis said suddenly. "I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!"

"It's ok… um… sweetheart." _Ugh, gotta get better with the pet names_.

"No, no it's not, I hate it here! I simply can't stand it anymore!" Jervis wept loudly, letting his knees buckle to the floor. Jonathan grasped at the man's arms, but Jervis wouldn't hold himself up.

"It's gonna' be ok, Jerv. Listen to me, hunny," Jonathan said. "Talk to me… tell me what you're… you know, feeling."

"He says he wants to help me." Jervis gripped at Jonathan's shirt. "He says it's the first step to my recovery. But I can't, I can't, I-I won't! I'm not ready, Jonathan! Don't let him rip the truth from me, I-I can't face it yet!"

"Whoa, hang on. Slow down."

"He says it's the only way he'll ever sign my release papers!"

"Who? Doctor Bartholomew?"

Jervis shut his eyes tightly, squeezing a few fat tears down his nose. "He says I'm not ready until I face what… what happened to me."

"I don't understand."

"He thinks I have… repressed memories of my… childhood." Jervis gazed up, his face pained. "He's pressuring me to take a truth serum, so that we can get to the root of my issues."

Jonathan looked contemplative. "Well, maybe that will help."

"No!" Jervis struggled to his feet. "I said no! I _won't_!"

Jonathan reached for the man and pulled him into a strong embrace. "No one is going to make you do anything you don't want to. I promise."

Jervis pulled back and starred as if he'd just had a moment of clarity, his expression suspicious and doubtful. "Why care? About me? What do I have that's so… special?"

Jonathan for once felt confident in his answer. "You're everything I'm not."

Jervis sidled closer and pressed himself against Jonathan's chest. "You'll protect me then?"

"Jervis, they can't make you agree to something you're not comfortable with. Not even Doctor Arkham. In fact, I think I'll bring this up to Joan."

"No! If she knew she'd tell him and then he'll know and he'll force me to go through with it!"

"Jervis, Doctor Bartholomew cannot and _will not_ make you take a drug you don't consent to. Joan will make sure of it. I'll make sure of it."

"If I don't he won't let me leave." Jervis cast his head down and stared at the floor, his eyes hidden by his shaggy bangs.

Jonathan reached out and raised the man's chin with a finger. "We have other options. We'll stay in Gotham as outpatients."

"And what then? What if I never face it?"

"Then we live here in Gotham until the day you do."

"Why stay?"

"I told you once. I won't tell you again." Jonathan lurched back with the force of his partner springing forward to kiss him passionately. He hugged Jervis's waist until their kiss ebbed.

"Somehow I don't believe you," Jervis whispered. "You could have anyone. I'm not special. I'm nothing…"

"You're obnoxious and loud-mouthed, and you're snobby too," Jonathan replied with a smile. "But you tell it like it is… in a way, you're almost… fearless."

Jervis withdrew from their embrace and scuffed his foot against the floor, looking abashed. "I'm sorry about your clothes," he said and pointed to Jonathan's soiled pants.

Jonathan shrugged. "Enjoy having made me scrub the floor. You'll never see that again."

"Shall we call for another pair?"

"How about I just take them off?"

Jervis smirked and put a hand over his heart. "I swore to abstain myself."

"You did not. You crossed your fingers," Jonathan backpedalled toward their bunk, gesturing with a come hither finger, "and so did I."


	23. Before We Can Begin to Heal

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Before We Can Begin to Heal  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,885  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Bane, Doctor Robert Bartholomew  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: R  
Summary: Jonathan and Jervis go through the motions of Arkham life while waiting for their release. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain.

**Author's note**: Here it is. I hope it was worth the long wait!

**Shout Outs**: This chapter is dedicated to those who have done a few fan based artworks, such as **GabbyVee**, who's recently done a nice piece with a bit of Eddie/Jerv lovin' (a strange combo that I'm coming to like), and **Esperata**- or** kris10brownuk** on youtube- who made a lovely little fan video title 'Scarecrow & Mad Hatter- Ten Black Roses'. Please visit these things and let them know how awesome they are. I'm sure they would love some more followers, as they are super talented.

-Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

R&R

**Before We Can Begin to Heal**

December came and went with a queer mix of joy and sorrow, a forced kind of merriment that could barely pass for holiday spirit. Jervis had asked why they even bothered with holidays in Arkham, let alone Christmas or Hanukkah, as it only reminded inmates and staff of how abnormal their lives were. Jonathan could only shrug. Hell if he knew. There was, however, a slight benefit from being required to celebrate something so dreary, and that was the one present each inmate was allowed to receive. Of course there were limitations on what they could ask for, but in the end Jonathan was satisfied with his three volume, hard-cover set of J.R.R. Tolkien's _The Lord of the Rings_. He'd read the series before, but that was a while ago, and he was prepared to read it thrice times more if it would keep him occupied.

Jervis had specifically asked to be excluded from receiving gifts. _Give me a huge box of nothing_, the man had said. In the end, Joan had gotten him a Beatles album, and though the gesture was sweet, Jervis had flung it against the wall in a huff, turning to Jonathan and asking how in the hell he could play the damn thing if he had nothing to play it on? Jonathan didn't know, nor did he care, and had stuck his nose back in his book until February arrived to grace them with more snow.

Gotham became almost beautiful as the flakes drifted to coat it like a bride's gown, and Jonathan found himself caught up in the sight of its beauty during his rec. room time. He stared out the window with Jervis's head in his lap as they both listened to the secured television on the far wall. He stroked Jervis's golden hair, ignoring the whispered bullying of his fellow inmates and glaring at them as if to say '_take a fucking picture_'. It was funny- the more they laughed, the more he wanted to stick it to 'em, and so he stroked Jervis's hair as if on display and even played with it, all the while smiling as they called him a fag. He didn't give a shit. Let them call him anything under the sun; let them insult his mother, let them laugh until their faces were red and they couldn't breathe. He just _did not care. _ For once in his miserable life he was free.

"Oh, Jonathan…" His partner said as he messaged the man's scalp. "My Jonathan."

A strange kind of terror welled in Jonathan's gut, one he hadn't felt in so long its onset was almost painful. That feeling in the pit of his stomach could only be quelled by the beat of his growing heart. It was the feeling of being owned, of belonging to someone, of being loved and expected to love in return. He had pushed away the same feeling ever since Becky had left him, telling himself there was no room for that kind of sensual possessiveness in his life, but Jervis was good at reawakening excitement, and Jonathan was less apt to refuse it now that the embers were aglow.

Those thoughts were fleeting as Jonathan felt Jervis's muscles loosened under his nimble hands. He couldn't have resisted if he'd tried, and bent forward to place an upside down kiss upon his lover's lips, it appearing chaste and stark from outside their secret realm, but inside was passionate and coated with color. He was momentarily lost in a sea of overpowering emotions and dipped his tongue further.

"Jesus, get a fucking _room_," Warren White yelled from his seat across the way. He and Edward were engrossed in a diligent game of chess. Edward lifted his hand up to cover the side of his face and looked away from the couple.

Jervis looked up to Jonathan and winked. "We already have one," he whispered. Jonathan smiled and continued to run his hands through his partner's hair.

February gave way to March, March drifted into April, and April brought with it a mass of rain to wet the blooming petals of the stargazer lilies surrounding the compound. Through the months, Jervis had finally taken Jonathan's sweet words of reassurance and agreed to outdoor recreational privileges, so they spent some much needed time under the sun, basking on the dark green benches along the brick wall of the intensive ward during their scheduled block. Jervis laughed and smiled the entire time, his buck teeth grazing over his bottom lip as he spoke confidently about their eventual release- whenever that would be. Jonathan nodded and uttered a '_soon baby, soon' _under his breath, then turned his gaze back to the text held loosely in his hand, noticing how his physical grip on the book had lessened while his confidence in pet names had increased.

One day, as they sat under the overcast, it started to rain, and they were summoned inside for the remainder of what they had jokingly dubbed as recess. But unlike the others who ran to the doors in some futile attempt at dodging the droplets, Jonathan let them caress his outstretched arms and palms, turning his face upward as they came down faster and faster. Jervis called to him, along with some angry guards, but the wetness upon his lips tasted like freedom, and he had to be moved by force before following everyone inside.

Nights were spent in a haze of fervent, but silent sex before having to fall asleep in their separate bunks. Jonathan hated parting ways after such intimacies, but they couldn't afford to be caught. His imagination conjured up Joan's face, her umber eyes softening while she tried to be stern, but in the end giving in to his puppy dog look. He knew she wouldn't begrudge their needs. She would understand their urges, but Doctor Bartholomew would insist they be celled apart. The more Jonathan heard about this Doctor Robert Bartholomew, the more he disliked the man, but his respect never waned, for it was Robert who was taking on Jervis as a full time patient. On the flipside, Jervis would often come back to their cell one the verge of tears, saying his therapist was pressuring him, prying too deep, pushing him to remember the creeping memories that dwelled beyond his subconscious, and Jonathan had to teach himself to let the anger at his partner's invaded privacy subside. After all, it was only to help. Only to help.

Days came and went, and Jonathan could mark the time by the nurses coming to hand him his pills through the bars of their cell. He popped them in his mouth, taking a swig of water they gave him in a small Dixie cup, and swallowed without a single word spoken- no arguments, no anger, no tears. They would order him to stand in the corner while the guards unlocked the doors to administer Jervis's dose, and he would watch as they held a cup to the blonde man's face, insisting he drink water with the pills.

Jervis liked to refuse them, but in the end they forced him to do it their way, and he swallowed each pill in reluctance. After, the nurses would prod his opened mouth with latex covered hands to make sure the pills had been ingested, checking along his gums and underneath his tongue. A satisfied snap would resound as they pulled off the gloves, and they would disappear down the corridor, leaving Jonathan to continue his book as Jervis stalked about their cell like a caged animal, complaining that the medication was too much.

There was no point in denying the drugs, they were obviously helping. For the first time in his life Jonathan was able to sleep without any trouble whatsoever. His head hit the pillow and within ten minutes he was out, but Jervis had been finding it more and more difficult to stay asleep, and would wake him in the middle of the night to complain about the non-existent noise that came when the lights went off. Jonathan would rub his eyes and take Jervis into his bunk with the intent of making love to the man until he fell asleep, and Jonathan, tired and spent, would sink into the bunk below until morning when they were roused for breakfast.

Breakfast in the dining hall was quickly- and not to mention surprisingly- becoming one of Jonathan's favorite parts of the day. It was nice when the mess hall wasn't filled. Jervis liked his coffee saturated with cream and sugar and Jonathan took his black, and sometimes they would steal kisses from each other like a normal couple would in the hours of the morning. Their noses rubbed gently as they chuckled to themselves before each taking a sip from their mugs. But everyone, from Edward to Bane, was no doubt watching, their faces shocked as they witnessed the two rogues- more specifically the two _men_- lock lips. Once again Jonathan didn't give a damn. Let them threaten, let them jeer. Let Edward eye him up in jealousy, it didn't matter anymore.

All that mattered was Jervis.

It seemed they were moving, never slowing, reaching forward to grasp that elusive goal that would grant them their freedom. That was until Jonathan was unknowingly requested for a private conversation by Doctor Robert Bartholomew.

He was escorted down the long corridor for therapy like any other day, though his wrists were cuffed- not normal- but his long legs felt strong, more nimble than ever before, and he disregarded the strange use of restraint as merely precautionary. Perhaps Arkham had just been through another government evaluation, or perhaps Joan thought it best to keep him in cuffs during their session- who knew. He walked on with the guard, but instead of veering right to go to Doctor Leland's office they took a left.

Jonathan told the guard they were making a wrong turn, but the guard insisted they were going the right way. They halted in front of a tall door with the words ROBERT BARTHOLOMEW, M.D. _Occupational Psychiatrist_ written on its obscured glass. Jonathan turned to the guard and told the man that this wasn't the office of his therapist, that there had to be a mistake, but the guard paid him no mind and opened the door to push him through. Jonathan was suddenly cast into a beautiful, lavishing office, complete with a leather psychiatric couch and a breathtaking reddish-brown mahogany desk. The office even had a small coffee machine in the corner, but the only beverage Jonathan could see were small tea packets labeled English breakfast.

"Ah, I see you eyeing the tea," a voice spoke. Jonathan jumped as he noticed a small, portly middle-aged man sitting at the large desk. The man smiled at him. "If you'd like I can make you some."

Jonathan stared down at his bound wrists, then up at the man. He nodded. The man got up after motioning for Jonathan to sit.

"I hope English breakfast is alright. Jervis is the only one of my patients who drinks tea, and he insists on English breakfast."

"He's fond of that kind," Jonathan heard himself say. _Are you the infamous Bartholomew, you fat creep? _

As if the man could hear Jonathan's thoughts, he brought the tea over and offered a shake. "I don't believe we've officially met. My name is Doctor Bartholomew."

"Jonathan Crane," Jonathan said and took the man's hand carefully. He didn't like this Bartholomew. The man seemed up to something.

Doctor Bartholomew smiled, his plump cheeks pinching up, but his eyes were strange. There was something… almost predatory in the way he looked at Jonathan. "Ah, Jonathan Crane." The man went to sit at his desk once again.

"Doctor Bartholomew," Jonathan replied in the same tone.

Doctor Bartholomew chuckled. "You don't like me."

"Why would you say that?"

The balding man turned his stare to look at something on his desk, his hands resting across his round midsection, and shook his head, smiling all the while. "Ah, I can only imagine the colorful picture Jervis has painted of me."

Jonathan didn't want to talk about Jervis, but Doctor Bartholomew kept saying the blonde's name. It struck Jonathan as odd, and he didn't appreciate being left in the dark, especially when it came to matters of Jervis. "I don't know what you're talking about." _That's right, you go on faking and so will I._

Doctor Bartholomew didn't respond right away. He rested his elbow on the desk and leaned his chin into his balled fist, staring. He stared and stared and stared, until Jonathan found himself squirming in his seat. Finally the man's lips parted, as if to speak, but they closed again and he kept on staring. Jonathan didn't know how long he could last under that gaze.

"You don't like me, and you don't trust me," the doctor finally said. "Honestly, I should have expected as much. Jervis does not enjoy our sessions. But let me assure you, I have only the best intentions for my patients."

"Why am I here?"

"Why do you think you're here?"

_Oh not this bullshit, _Jonathan thought. "Look, Doctor Bartholomew," he started, "I'm not exactly sure as to why I'm here but I _do_ know it has something to do with Jervis, as you keep mentioning him. I also know that I'd be a fool to speak to you about anything Jervis has told me. You keep your confidences, Doctor, and I keep mine. If you have something to discuss with your patient you should probably do so with your _patient_."

"Who said anything about telling me what Jervis has told you? Well, now I'm curious. _Has_ he told you something?"

"I'm not doing this with you."

"Doing what?"

_Oh my god_. Jonathan could barely keep the snarl from off his face. "Alright _asshole_, stop with the psycho-babble bullshit because it's not gonna' work on me."

Doctor Bartholomew laughed. "Joan told me you were vulgar."

"What the hell do you _want_?"

"The same thing you want. I want Jervis to be healthy and to be a functional part of society."

"I mean what do you want from _me_?"

Without warning, Doctor Bartholomew got to his feet and wandered over to where Jonathan sat. He placed his fat rear on the nice wooden coffee table and sighed. "You're afraid of the man you are, and the child you once were. You've been terrified your entire life of being the very thing that warranted your awful humiliation, and as that young child you grew to believe that if you could force yourself to be something you were not, you could escape the hurt that made you want to be something else in the first place. That fear gave you identity, it led you many places. But now that you have this special someone in your life, your eyes have been opened, and you're finally seeing for the first time. You can see how much of your life you've wasted pretending to be the very tool those tormentors of yours used to make you feel such pain, and now you want to start your life. Or to get your life back. You worked at the University, correct?"

Jonathan couldn't speak for a moment, but he moistened his dry lips and said, "That's common knowledge."

"Jonathan, you've come such a long way. You've taken that opportunity and run with it." The doctor put his hands together, and the look in his eyes was strangely sympathetic. "It would be unfair to take that same opportunity, the chance to heal, away from Jervis. He is far from where you are."

"You're speaking in riddles and I don't like it."

"You mean you don't like me talking about Jervis when it doesn't involve you?"

"I _mean_ exactly what I _said_!"

Doctor Bartholomew gave him a sad smile. "And so do I. Jervis is not ready to leave. He has yet to tackle his own inner demons. Though I don't think you and he's relationship has interrupted his treatment thus far, I am concerned about the damage it could cause if you don't understand what I'm saying."

Jonathan glared at the man, and in his struggle for control his fingers bunched into the fabric of his pants. "You can't stop us from being with each other. You have no right. You _cannot_ keep us apart."

"Of course," the doctor said. He threw up his hands. "I would never infringe upon that. Love is very important, and I think it's good for Jervis to be in a healthy relationship. But let me stress the word _healthy_. Jervis is not currently so. He is very sick. And you are barely breaching the first stage of mental stability yourself. I guess the point I'm trying to get at is that you both aren't in a place to be committed to one another. If this- and I mean the relationship- becomes detrimental to my patient- say, if you help him to retain his psychosis- then I will be forced to separate you from him."

Jonathan's eyes went wide in shock. He shook his head, his breath becoming leaden. "You can't do that."

"I can. But I don't want to."

"He's getting better. We're both getting better."

"I've seen that," Doctor Bartholomew said. "And Joan believes it to be good. As young and inexperienced as she is, I'm inclined to agree with her. For now."

Jonathan sighed in partial relief. Just as he was about to speak Doctor Bartholomew shed his thick glasses and rubbed his face. "Jonathan," he said and looked up, his brown eyes clear and sharp, "I've been working with Jervis for eight years now. I might seem pushy, or even overly protective. But the truth is I just want him to get better. There will be obstacles before that happens, though."

"I understand," Jonathan replied.

"Before we can begin to heal we must know where and what the wound is. Right, Jonathan?"

Jonathan nodded.

"You care for Jervis," the doctor went on. "Help me help him. Convince him to take the serum. I can then hypnotize him and get the truth."

Jonathan looked appalled. "Sodium pentothal has been disproven to work. You of all people should know that, _Doctor_."

"True, it can make the patient overly obliging. But I'm not rummaging around as if I have no idea what's in there. Jervis's psychosis stems from childhood. I have certain specifics, but he has yet to let the truth come out. Before he can overcome his disorders he has to hear himself speak it. He _needs_ to hear it from his own lips."

"All of our 'psychoses' stem from childhood, Doctor," Jonathan replied snidely.

"He's buried a great deal of pain and guilt inside."

"I've studied psychology, Sir. You don't need to tell me about buried pain."

"Then you'll persuade him for me?"

"Not a chance."

Doctor Bartholomew let out a loud sigh in response. "I thought as much."

"Are we done?"

"It seems so."

Jonathan got up from the couch while Doctor Bartholomew called in the guards. They entered, and Jonathan let them escort him to the large door, but before they could exit Doctor Bartholomew spoke up, calling for them to wait a moment while giving Jonathan a vague look. "I won't be able to sign his release papers, you know," the doctor said. "If that makes me the bad guy, then so be it. But I won't sign until I know he's ready."

Jonathan turned, the guards swiveling on their heels to follow him, and as he left he whispered in response, "_We'll see about that_."

The guards slowed when entering the hallway leading to the corridor, taking his upper arms and pulling him back as if he were actually capable of escape. He wore a grim expression as they continued, thinking how absurd it was for this supposedly acclaimed doctor to get him involved. The man spoke as if Jervis were a guinea pig, as if he were something to poke and prod and finally crack open, revealing the goodies inside like a goddamn piñata. Involving Jonathan was not only offensive, but absolutely unprofessional, and he knew he would be speaking to Joan about it come their next session.

As the two guards escorted Jonathan down the hall, another set of guards rounded the corner, stepping foot in their path. Jonathan was too busy looking at the ground in contemplation to see who the other inmate was, and before he could glance up in time he was thrust into the nearest wall while the two sets of guards hollered for his assailant to back down.

"The word goes you will be leaving soon," Bane said close to his ear. "You and the little man."

Jonathan didn't say anything, but his teeth clenched at the familiar feel of being crushed against some concreted wall by that behemoth of a man. The guards whipped out their batons and started to strike, but it was as If the puny blows were nothing compared to Bane's toughened skin.

"If this word is truth," Bane whispered, "then do not make mistake of coming back. I will be waiting."

After that said, Jonathan was finally freed as Bane was wrenched away. A guard threatened to tase the giant man, so Bane moved back compliantly, but his face never lost that fearsome grin, even when the words 'solitary confinement' were mentioned. It seemed Bane was on his third strike. Jonathan took a few deep breaths to calm himself while the guards, save for one, forced Bane along down the hallway.

The remaining guard brought Jonathan back to his cell, whereupon Jervis lay lounging on his stomach on the bottom of their bunks, his small legs kicking absently in the air with his elbows propped and his chin resting in his palms.

Jonathan's cuffs were unlocked and removed, and when the guard left he pulled Jervis away from the text and into his arms. Jervis looked a bit surprised by the unexpected contact, but then settled into the embrace as if it were home, nuzzling his face into Jonathan's chest while his shoulders shimmied from the excitement of being held.

"Mm, good session?" Jervis asked and smiled. "You're not normally so cuddly afterwards."

"Actually, I…" Jonathan started, but then stopped. He blinked and thought for a moment before going on. "Yeah, it was good. It was really good actually." He brushed some of Jervis's hair away.

"What did you talk about?" Jervis asked.

Jonathan stared into his partner's eyes. He drowned in those eyes, was pulled deep in a lovely blue sea of all encompassing wonder, and he had to make himself surface from their depths before he was able to respond. "Nothing to mention really."

"Oh, don't keep secrets from me, Jonathan." Jervis snuggled against him again, smiling.

Jonathan suddenly raised the other man's chin with a finger. "We're so close."

Jervis smiled. "I know."

They kissed, and the approaching night became a solace in which they could, for at least a little while, seek out each other's unspoken wounds in the sadness that was Arkham, upon which they healed with their hands and mended with their hearts.


	24. A Hundred Men

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: A hundred Men  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 4,977  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Doctor Joan Leland, Doctor Robert Bartholomew, Mayor Quincy Sharp, Senator Irene Miller, Commissioner of Police James Gordon, Bruce Wayne, Doctor Jeremiah Arkham  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: R  
Summary: Jonathan faces the board about his release. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Here's another one. Please review!

Please visit my little deviant art page. The user name is xcrowscrowx.

**R&R**

**A Hundred Men**

Doctor Joan Leland rarely ever ran late. In fact, she usually clocked in a solid ten minutes before her day was supposed to begin, but the commute to Arkham was tedious, and she accidentally forgot to set her alarm the night before. _No more nights at the bar_, she thought. _Better to be lonely in the comfort of my own home_ _then late for work the next morning_.

As she raced to the nearest GTA station she decided to stop for a quick cup of coffee and grabbed the daily Gotham Gazette. Paying for both coffee and paper, she stepped out the door and noticed the front page while blowing on the steam seeping from the opened tab of her cup. The picture contained one of Gotham's many infamous rouges being forced into a squad car by the black-clad Batman. Garfield Lynns had escaped them about a month back, and certain as the sun, the arsonist soon began lighting a mass of large fires in some of Gotham's most populated areas.

That was it for Lynn; the board had discussed it, and when the board discussed, Black Gate was the answer. The thought of losing yet another one to that pitiless penitentiary was depressing, but it was good to know the Dark Knight was reliable when it came to capturing those criminals that purposefully slipped between Arkham's cracks, though there was only so much the Batman could change.

Joan knew.

She had tried many times to correct what she thought of as a corrupt and contradictory system, but she was a mere minnow in a sea of whales; mostly petty, political assholes that didn't care about the wellbeing of those they deemed as 'permanent losses'. If she could give those dictating, worthless windbags a piece of her mind she would tell them how inhuman they all were, but there again, tell them something they didn't know.

The E line came to a halt and she boarded through the sliding doors with the other bustling Gothamites forced to endure the horror that was their public transportation. Taking the nearest empty seat, she crossed her legs and sipped her coffee as the train lurched forward. A piercing squeal rang as she flipped through the Gazette. There seemed to be nothing of interest, so she turned the page thinking she would leave the stack for someone else, but an article caught her attention and she skimmed over it with renewed intrigue.

Names of importance popped up, mainly those involved with Arkham's revolving door policy, but not all were bad. Jeremiah was one. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises was another. The next felt more personal, a name with the power to make her blush if she wasn't careful. Thoughts like the ones the name invoked were unprofessional, and she had to remind herself exactly _who_ and _what_ he was. Nevertheless, her secret romantic interests didn't take away from the fact that Jonathan Crane was on the chopping block, ready to cut the umbilical cord with mother Arkham, and the papers were all over his upcoming release. She was surprised they hadn't plagued her while traveling to and from work, but she supposed there were other more effective sources then a low-ranking female psychologist with a talent for dodging the press. Reading on, she observed her name in addition to those above, but only as a snippet; and besides, they spelled it wrong like they always did.

Jervis's name hadn't shown up in the article, but she knew as soon as she could get his papers approved the reporters would be on the trail like bloodhounds chasing a wounded deer. She might actually have to make a statement.

Fortunately, all that came from Arkham's discharge of inmates deemed 'mentally stable' were second rate stories, fillers to make the gluttonous, gossip-loving Gothamites fat and full. It was only when a rogue made the front page did the Asylum have to start caring about what actually went into the papers, thus Garfield Lynns. Of course, the only way one could make the front page was to do something beyond horrible. The thought that nobody gave a shit about her patients beyond their wrongdoings made Joan sad. Those who actually recovered didn't have a place in Gotham's limelight, and it made her feel sick that all their hard work was simply brushed under the rug, out of sight and mind.

The train stopped with a sharp, metallic screech, and Joan rose to her feet, leaving the Gazette on an empty seat before exiting with a few others passengers. From the station she would take the 93 bus across the south bridge, whereupon she'd arrive at Arkham Asylum's main gates. When she got there she used the side entrance for employees and huffed up the endless stairwell, taking a quick breath at the top before hurrying down the long hallway that led to her office on the other side of the building. Upon finally reaching her desk she decided she needed some water and another cup of coffee.

Before leaving for the employee's lounge she buzzed the big daddy, propping the office phone against her cheek as she organized her files for the day. The other end clicked after the fourth ring so she left a message. "Doctor Arkham? This is Leland. Sorry I'm late, bad commute this morning. Anyway, page me if you need me." She almost hung up but placed the phone back to her cheek. "Oh, and let me know when the board wants to meet about Crane's release. He'll be ready for housing and job placement soon." She again moved to place the phone down but changed her mind. "And _another_ thing; I took your advice and started watching Oz. It's good. Really good." The receiver hit the dock and she was out the door.

Arkham's main lounge was located between the eastern and western wards, a good distance for most, but a short walk for Joan. The room was large, with two worn coaches placed over a circular, Oriental rug and a plain, wooden table that none of the staff ever seemed to use. Mediocre paintings decorated the walls, and a ten year old fridge was plugged in the crowded outlet strip beside the coffee machine. The coffee pot sat on the lower burner, heating what was left of the last batch. Joan dumped its contents in the sink and watched the leftover grounds swirl with the water from the faucet down the drain.

As she prepared a fresh pot, a slender, blonde haired woman sashayed in, sporting what Joan thought were ridiculously high heels for their particular profession. Tiffany Langley, an overly confident bimbo with a valley girl accent, was a full-time student at Gotham University, interning with Arkham for a combination of partial credit and pay. Joan thought the girl was somewhat helpful, but mostly a ditsy bitch.

"Oh, _hey_, Joanie," Tiffany said, drawing out every other word, "how _are_ you?"

Joan could tell from her tone the sweet pea act was false, but she humored the girl nonetheless. "Oh, you know, kickin' ass and takin' names. The usual."

Tiffany laughed and made a show of pretending to like her, but deep down Joan knew the girl was jealous, perhaps of her authority, or maybe of her position in the field. Either way Joan didn't care.

"So," Tiffany said, "you must be excited. Scare-boy's almost off your hands." She laughed again.

Joan twitched. "No more than he is, I'm sure. And he has a name. Start using it."

The girl's fake smile dropped and she gave Joan an indignant look. "Jeez, _sorry_, I didn't know you were in _love_ with the guy, _God_." She flicked her bleach blonde hair.

"Tiffany, I need some files from men's firm," Joan said, turning to hide her growing smirk. "Would you go down there and grab them for me? I was late this morning and have a lot to catch up on."

The girl's face seemed to lose its color, and she faltered. "Men's infirmary? You mean… down the men's corridor?"

"Yes. That would be _men's firm_."

Tiffany struggled, perhaps searching for an excuse, until Joan had a change of heart. "You know, never mind, Tiffany," she said. She grabbed the fresh brewed pot and poured herself a scalding cup. "I'll go get them at lunch. But, maybe you can take some calls for me this morning if you're up to it."

"Of course…" Tiffany's face had reddened significantly.

"Awesome. Thank you."

The girl turned and left without another word.

_Yeah, you better run with your tail tucked missy_, Joan thought. _Arkham's boys_ _would've eaten you alive in those heels_. Joan chuckled to herself, shaking her head at youth's foolishness, and walked towards the door with her coffee in hand, but Doctor Bartholomew stepped in before she could pass. He wore a steam-pressed tan suit over a pristine shirt and smelled of aftershave. "Joan, hello," he said and smiled. "Good morning."

"You too, Bob," she replied, blowing on her coffee. "Excuse me I have a lot to catch up on."

"Oh, Joan," he said, making her halt. "I have some things we should discuss if you could possibly spare a moment."

Joan almost sighed. "Sure thing, Bob. You know I can spare a moment for you." _What have I done now, Bartholomew?_

"My apologies, I was thinking I could catch you this morning in your office, but you weren't there." He motioned to a chair at the wooden table.

Joan obliged him with a questioning look. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, no," he replied, holding up his hands. He sat across from her, taking his glasses from off his face. He rested them on the table, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and sighed. _Well, that's a lie_, she thought as he went on. "Let me start out, by telling you what an upstanding job you've done with Jonathan Crane. Really, I'm impressed." He gave her a smile. She didn't doubt its genuineness, but wondered where the hell he was going with the small talk. "I can't believe the progress he's made… and in such a short amount of time."

"He wants to get better," Joan replied. "It's real now. He actually _wants_ to be healthy."

"It's wonderful. I'm simply astounded. This kind of progress hasn't happened at Arkham in a long time. And I'm telling you, it's far past due."

"I'm glad to hear you say so." She smiled and sipped her coffee.

"Yes." He returned the smile. Of course, that's when things went awry. "On that note, I'm afraid I have to bring up my concerns about Jonathan's 'relationship' with my patient."

_Oh, here we go_, Joan thought. She was well aware of Doctor Bartholomew's concerns regarding his 'patient', especially after hearing the way the man went behind her back to threaten her own. She remembered poor Jonathan that day, terrified he would lose the one stitch keeping everything he'd worked so hard for from unraveling, and it near broke Joan's heart. She thought herself above the outrageous political nonsense everyone in Arkham seemed to pursue, but when it came to the wellbeing of one of her _patients_ she had to put her foot down. "I can understand your concerns, Robert," she said, "but I'll be honest, I have concerns of my _own_."

"I knew he'd tell you."

Joan's mouth set in a firm line. "That's no excuse. Jonathan is in a fragile state right now, more so then ever. You could have set him back an entire year with just that one remark."

"Which remark?"

"About _Jervis_."

Doctor Bartholomew frowned. "We talked about Jervis for most of the time he was in my office."

Joan cut straight to the chase. "You _cannot_ separate them, Robert, you _cannot_." She figured if she was firm now maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to bring it up with the big daddy himself. She didn't want to trouble Doctor Arkham with such trivialities as Robert's tenacious bullying of both inmates, but if she had to Joan would bring it straight to the top.

"I never said I was going to separate them, nor do I _want_ to." Doctor Bartholomew looked insulted. "You're making me out to be the bad guy, Joan, and I'm not."

Joan sighed and rubbed her face. "No, I know. I know."

"So listen to me. Listen to reason. Do not- and I repeat- do _not_ try and force Jervis's papers through."

"Well, I'm not keeping Jonathan here. He's done with this place, he's earned his freedom. And frankly, Doctor, I think Jervis has as well."

"Joan, he's _not_ ready."

"He might _never_ be ready, Robert, _never_. He might always hold whatever it is that hurts him inside, but that doesn't mean we can _keep_ him here. You sit there and say he's not ready, but I think he is. I really think they have a shot, Bob. And I'm not going to separate them now, not while they have a fighting chance."

Doctor Bartholomew put his forehead to his palms, shaking his head. After a moment he lifted his glasses and put them on, pushing them up his nose until they were in place. He stared at her for what seemed like a long time, his eyes sharp, hawk-like, as if he could see everything from high on his thermal above. "You can push if you like. Go to Jeremiah if you have to. If he gives you the go ahead then fine, I'll sign."

Joan looked skeptical. "Really? Just like that?"

The corpulent doctor let out a hearty laugh. "Uh, _no_, not _just like that_." He took off his glasses again and started gesturing with them in the air. "This is a compromise, not a solution. I'll need to see Jervis like I would see him here, have enough time with him to keep the momentum of his progress going."

"They'll have scheduled outpatient therapy, and I'll no doubt be required to make some house calls to see them in their own environment. That I can assure you of."

"Wait, they'll be housed together?"

Joan almost smacked her forehead. _For a man with two masters and a doctorate, you aren't very fast, Bob_. "Of course they'll be together. It would only hinder their progress to separate them now."

"Could they not be housed close to one another, but not in the same apartment?"

"Robert, they're _intimate_. They're adult men with… _needs_. And putting them anywhere other than with each other would be asking for more stress. And we know what happens to men under stress."

"They're intimate here?"

_Probably_. "Or course not. They gave me their word, and the guards haven't seen any unacceptable behavior. Trust me on this one."

Doctor Bartholomew sighed. "I suppose you're right."

_You know I'm right. Ass. _Though the ball was in her court she gave him a small consolation, just to make the deal more palatable. "If it doesn't work I swear we'll have them separated. But in the mean time they've been making leaps and bounds and I think it best to reward them. They _want_ this, Bob."

"Yes…" Doctor Bartholomew said. He lingered in thought before catching her gaze. "But _why_ do they want recovery, Joan, and for _who_?" He stood, his fingers spread along the table's surface.

Joan opened her mouth to respond then stopped. She gave him a questioning look.

"I'll tell you, Joan, any answer other than for themselves is the wrong one."

Joan tapped one of her colorless fingernails against her mug as she watched the other doctor exit. The door closed behind him and Joan took another sip of her coffee, which had now cooled past the point of her liking. As she placed the cup in the lounge microwave she thought to herself _when did people stop believing in love_?

* * *

Jonathan paced as Jervis finished readying himself. The blonde wore a navy-blue suit that matched his eyes and made his hair look like spun gold. Jonathan thought his partner looked stunning and tried to enjoy the other man's appearance, but was too tightly wound.

"Jonathan, take a seat," Jervis said while smoothing his tie. "You're going to make me dizzy pacing like that. Just sit."

He wished he could. Every day had been like an itch he couldn't scratch. It was becoming so uncomfortable that Doctor Leland had put him on yet another prescription until the meeting with Arkham's board committee was over. He squirmed too much when still, but placed his rear on the bottom bunk of their bed when Jervis shot him a disgruntled look.

"Sorry, Jerv," he said. His hands began to fidget with the cuffs of his undershirt. "I'm just really nervous."

"There's no reason to be nervous, love." Jervis seemed to be the picture of calm, and Jonathan wondered if it was just a front or if the blonde really wasn't afraid.

"I don't know how you can be all nonchalant about this," he said. "I'm practically shitting myself over here."

"Please refrain, I have to sleep there tonight."

Jonathan snorted and shook his head. "Seriously, Jervis. In about ten minutes we'll be heading into the lion's den. I'm so fuckin' nervous I'm starting to swear."

"You always swear." Jervis was peering at his reflection in a metal square sheet bolted to their wall, a poor but safe alternative to a mirror.

"And you're way too relaxed." Jonathan had his head in his hands, but was glaring at his partner through his bony fingers. "How can you be so calm? What if they don't sign your papers, Jervis? What if they don't let you go?"

Jervis spun and captured Jonathan's gaze, appearing tall and confident and majestic, like a proud bird about to spread its wings and fly. Jonathan wondered where the crying man he'd cradled nights before had gone. "If they don't sign then I escape."

Jonathan blinked. "Jervis, you can't-"

"I'll do anything it takes to remain at your side. No prison cell can hold me; no four walls can keep me caged. No guard can stop me and certainly no slimy _board_ _committee _can thwart my loving you. If what it takes is running, then I'll _run_. They would need _a hundred_ men just to restrain me." Jervis turned back to his reflection in the metal square and straightened his tie.

Jonathan sat speechless, his fidgeting quelled, the corners of his lips upturned into a shy smile. It was touching to know Jervis would do next to anything to be with him. That being said, it would only take one medium-sized guard to pick Jervis up and haul him back into captivity, kicking and screaming. The thought was nice, though.

Jervis turned. "How do I look?"

Jonathan forced himself to take a deep breath and let his muscles loosen. "Beautiful," he replied listlessly.

Jervis raised a brow but smiled.

"I-I mean, professional. Appropriate… Sane?"

"Oh good," Jervis said. He tugged at the lapels of his jacket, adjusting his shoulders. "That's just what I was going for." He suddenly stepped close and wrapped his arms around Jonathan's neck. "And you… you look good enough to eat, my dear."

"Now, now, I think that's cannibalism," Jonathan said as his hands slipped around the other man's waist. "And I'm pretty sure that's considered crazy."

"Oh, but I _am_ crazy," Jervis replied. He inched closer, his lips brushing against Jonathan's. "Quite insane."

"True…" Jonathan said. He pulled away teasingly. "Anyone who boasts they can take on a hundred men seems quite insane to me."

"Ah, but that's not what makes me insane." Jervis grabbed the other man's hair, and Jonathan bit his smirking lip at the feeling.

"Does it start with a 'J'?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know."

Jonathan then felt his companion's lips against his own and for a moment forgot about his worries. He almost laughed; it was a cold day in hell when Jonathan Crane forgot about his worries, even for a minute. But they were forgotten, and it was freezing in hell.

"I have yet to be a good kisser like you," he said when they parted.

"Practice," Jervis replied. "Practice and maybe a glass of wine."

"_That_ sounds good."

"It's a date, then."

"I'll hold you to it."

Jervis smiled. As they embraced, a guard came and smacked his baton against the bars of their cell, startling Jonathan back into his worries. He quickly pushed Jervis away and stood, but bumped his head against the edge of the upper bunk. He yelped and rubbed at it with his palm, hissing.

"Stop dickin' around, Josephine," the guard said. "You don't wanna' be late for your glass slipper fitting."

Jonathan tried to ignore the comment, approaching the barred door, but then decided _fuck it_ and twirled around to grab the lapels of Jervis's jacket, kissing the man roughly in front of the guard. "See you on the other side," he said low.

Jervis kissed him in return. "A hundred men couldn't stop me."

Jonathan straightened and turned back to the door where the guard gave him a disgusted look. It was no longer necessary for him to be cuffed, so he exited the cell without the customary securing of his wrists and continued on tall and proud. The guard kept as much distance as he could afford, as if he were escorting a leper.

Along the corridor inmates yelled and taunted, calling out his mock, female name and hooting at each other's remarks. To Jonathan's surprise Joker remained quiet, watching him pass intently with those eerie, red eyes. When he reached the end of the men's ward he silently sighed and let the guard guide him through the security doors to the main conference room on the second floor. Once there, the guard told him to sit and he waited outside for Joan. He placed his chin in his palm, staring across the way at a large, decorative fern. After a few minutes she arrived dressed in a slim, black, knee-length skirt with a white blouse underneath a blazer jacket, her dark skin looking fresh and her hair down in its natural ringlets. Jonathan smiled at the sight of her.

"You ready?" she asked him cheerfully with a hand on her hip, a thick-set folder held against the other.

He nodded.

She opened the door and they stepped through to see five people seated across a large, rectangular table. On Jonathan's far left was Mayor Quincy Sharp, the newest appointed Mayor of Gotham, and to Sharp's left sat Senator Irene Miller, a raven haired woman with green eyes and plush red lips. In the middle was Jeremiah Arkham; next to him sat Commissioner James Gordon. To top the list of intimidating VIPs sat the rich and handsome bachelor Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises, a man who had spent thousands upon thousands in donation to Arkham's rehabilitation program and community correction facilities. Bruce Wayne made halfway houses possible; had the man not bought apartment buildings to accommodate those going through transitional release from Arkham, the inmates would be forced to jump straight into the real world, which time after time proved too much at once.

Joan cleared her throat, and Jonathan pulled out a chair across from the five bigwigs.

"Good to see you all," Joan said and took her seat next to Jonathan.

"You as well, Joan," Doctor Arkham replied.

Joan introduced the five individuals one by one and they stood upon hearing their names, reaching across the table to shake Jonathan's hand. _I know who they are_, Jonathan thought as each gripped his palm, _I know all too well_.

"Shall we then?" Mayor Quincy asked, leaning to see Doctor Arkham.

Joan opened her folder and arranged some papers on the table while all the others except Mr. Wayne did the same.

"Now, Mr. Crane," Senator Miller started, "what do you plan to do upon release?"

Jonathan gathered his courage and reminded himself not to swear. "Uh, yes… I-I plan to teach. Mr. Wayne found me a generous position as a part-time professor at Gotham University."

Mr. Wayne smiled in acknowledgement. Mayor Quincy flipped through his stack of papers. "Ah, yes," he said, looking past his glasses at the text, "you worked at the University before, correct?"

"Yes."

"And what will you be teaching?"

"General psychology," Jonathan replied.

"What about housing?" Commissioner Gordon asked next. "Where will you live?"

"Joan-I-I mean, Doctor Leland has me on waiting for a one bedroom close to the University."

The VIPs nodded. Mayor Quincy looked down at his notes again and raised his head with a sharp look. "Says here you're to be sharing this residence with another inmate. What's this all about?"

Jonathan swallowed, his throat tightening, and he looked to Joan for the answer. She jumped on the question with ease. "Jonathan will be housed with Jervis Tetch upon their release. Doctor Arkham, Doctor Bartholomew, and I have spoken in length about this arrangement and agree it would be beneficial in the out-patient process."

"The word is _could_ be beneficial," Mayor Quincy corrected.

"I agree," Senator Miller said. "What's to say this arrangement won't provoke a relapse?"

"I hate to say it, but that does sound a bit sketchy," Commissioner Gordon added.

Jonathan was stiff. He turned to Joan, a pleading look in his eyes, but it wasn't Joan that spoke next.

"Whoa, hold up, hold up," Mr. Wayne said. His teeth were like pearls as he smiled. "None of you have ever gone to summer camp? Studied abroad? Moved?"

The four other VIPs stared at him.

"Look, all I'm saying is I don't think it's such a bad idea. Makes the change less daunting with someone else."

"That's very cute, Mr. Wayne," Mayor Quincy said.

"We've already discussed the prospect," Doctor Arkham said. "And both Mr. Crane and Mr. Tetch have shown marked improvement when being celled together. The percentage of a patients relapse is high- we think it'll decrease with both in the same location."

Mayor Quincy and Senator Miller chewed on the thought for a moment. "I don't know…" Senator Miller said.

"Look at Harley Quinn's short release a few years back," Joan said. "Who could forget that? She stole a car and kidnapped a senator's daughter all on her first day."

"Yeah, I don't think I can _ever_ forget that," Mr. Wayne replied with a smirk.

"What if Harley had had someone else with her?" Joan pressed. "I mean we drop these inmates on the streets and expect them to live a normal life when they have no idea what normal _is_."

Senator Miller nodded and looked to Mayor Quincy. "Makes sense, I suppose."

"There will be house calls every week," Doctor Arkham assured. "Both will still be in treatment, therapy sessions, and taking their meds. We're only hoping this will make the transition easier."

Jonathan melted in relief as the five VIPs eventually agreed. After, they asked more, such as how he planned to pay back the money owed to the city for damages, what he was going to do when he was finished, who he would associate with, where he would go, what he would do recreationally. By the time the barrage was finished, Jonathan felt like retreating back to his cell. It was a lot to think about; he hadn't had the kind of responsibility they were talking about in a long time. He pictured Jervis, imaging how the board would scrutinize his poor lover, and crossed his fingers under the table.

"Alright," Doctor Arkham said, "I think we're done here."

"Thank you very much for you time," Jonathan replied quickly.

Everyone rose from their seats. Before leaving, Jonathan shook the VIPs hands once more and thanked them each. He walked out the door with Joan behind him, feeling somewhat elated at how the meeting had gone, but saw Jervis seated next to Doctor Bartholomew and suddenly felt the worry swell in his stomach. He carefully marched past the two seated men, attempting to retain his control, but he saw Jervis give him a slow wink from the corner of his eye and it was all he could do to keep from jumping into the man's arms, never to let go, even as the guards threatened him with batons.

Joan walked him back to his cell, telling him along the way what a great job he had done. She was confident, but Jonathan was not so sure, especially when it came to Jervis. Upon reaching his cell she gave him a quick hug, which he returned half-heartedly, and they parted ways. He sat on Jervis's bunk in waiting, biting his finger nails to keep his calm. He didn't think he would fall asleep but he did. Startled back into consciousness by Jervis's lips on his neck, he shot forward with a jerk on the mattress.

"What did they say?" he asked nervously. "Did they say anything?"

"They said they had all the information they needed to make a decision," Jervis replied, "After that I was led back here. They aren't supposed to tell us until after a few days. Plus, I'm sure they have a lot of paperwork to go through."

"How was Doctor Bartholomew?"

"An ass. As usual."

Jonathan groaned and curled to his side, tucking his knees under his chin. "This suspense if killing me."

Jervis hummed in agreement and patted his hand on Jonathan's head. Jonathan looked at him, worry in his eyes, but Jervis smiled and leaned in for a kiss. "We'll just have to wait," he said.


	25. The Other Side

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: The Other Side  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,718  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, (random Gotham University students)  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan and Jervis start their lives on the other side. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

**Author's note:** This one has a bit of sexual content, so please be advised. And if you read, please take the time to review—it doesn't have to be much, it's just helpful to get feedback and to see if people are even still reading. Not that I wouldn't update, but it might make me more inclined to update faster.

**TO THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE TAKEN THE TIME TO WRITE A COMMENT**: _Thank you very, very, very much_. This is not something I get any sort of gain from except my own twisted pleasure and, of course, your words of either praise or disgust. Both are equally endearing in my eyes. And I DO take criticism seriously, and will consider such said things for future chapters/stories. It is very helpful to have little reminders of 'hey, where's that guy?' or 'well, that's a bit too far-fetched for her'. Really, I take it all in.

**THANK YOU. YOU ARE AWESOME.**

**OH! AND ANOTHER THING.** This story might seem like it's getting all light-hearted and shit, but consider it a fresh breath before I shove your head under water again. It won't be like this for long.

Deviant: xcrowscrowx.

**The Other Side**

Jonathan huffed as he set a cardboard box on the floor. Removing his latest pair of glasses- compliments of his new insurance through Wayne Enterprises- he then wiped at his sweating brow with the bottom of his plaid shirt and thought, _shit this stuff is heavy_. It didn't help that their residence was located on the 7th floor of a ten story apartment building with _no elevator_. Seriously, who thought of _that_? Thankfully, he didn't have much to carry.

Jervis was across the room on his hands and knees cleaning the kitchen floor, scrubbing at the ancient scuff marks while whistling a tune Jonathan couldn't recall. The last of Jonathan's confiscated belongings- mostly books- were finally inside, so he sat on the box to rest and watch the other man clean.

The building itself was dated, but the interior was fully furnished, it being one of Mr. Wayne's recently renovated structures within the last five years, and was located off 23rd Street in Mid-town, Gainsly, thirty minutes from Arkham Asylum by Metro. Those thirty minutes translated into a good fifteen miles. So, in doing the math, Jonathan and his companion could put about fifteen miles between themselves and Arkham- fifteen miles between their new lives and the lives of their pasts. Jonathan figured the more the better, but they had a ways to go before they could make the distance permanent, as they were still technically at risk for relapse and had to be within Arkham and the GCPD's reach.

The wait had been a long one, but damned if Jonathan wouldn't do it all over again just to be here now. He put his chin in his palm, his elbow resting on his knee, and gazed at the blonde man who'd made their release an actuality, something more than a mere dream conjured by two crazed men. Jervis went on cleaning, spraying de-greaser here, wiping with a paper towel there, whistling the same tune without thought or concern. Jonathan smiled, his fingers pressing against his lips, partly covering them, and was glad his gaze wasn't noticed.

_You made this possible_, he thought_. I couldn't have done this without knowing you'd meet me on the other side, sane or crazy or whatever they wanted to call us. I owe you everything, you brilliant, loud-mouthed, self-indulgent man. I owe you more then I give._

At that moment, Jervis rose to his feet and let out a sigh. He arched his back and turned to meet Jonathan's stare. "Stop smiling at me like that, Jonathan." He shivered. "You look happy. You're scaring me."

Jonathan laughed. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, either. My God, who are you? What have you done with my Jonathan?"

"Hey, you're to blame for this, you know."

Jervis snapped off his cleaning gloves and threw them on the island separating the kitchen from the living room. He smirked and leaned against the wall. "Alright, fine. I'll be the scapegoat yet again." His smirk became a warm smile. "We should take a break and christen our new home."

"Oh?" Jonathan said. He sat up straight, his thoughts making their way towards the gutter of his mind. "I like the sound of that."

Jervis turned in agreement, heading for their fridge, but Jonathan was too busy removing his shirt to see the other man's intent. There was a slight hiss, a pop, and Jervis turned back with two cold, freshly opened beers. Jonathan had flung his shirt on the floor and posed himself, his hand at his hip and his back slightly arched, his eyes trying to be seductive, but when he saw Jervis with the drinks he paused and faltered. "Oh," he said. His arm went to rub his neck. "You mean like with a_ beer_. Yeah, I was thinking the same."

Jervis gave him a look as if to say 'really now?' and handed him a bottle.

Jonathan thanked his companion but hesitated. "You think its ok with the medication?"

"One couldn't hurt," Jervis replied. "Cheers, love."

"Yes, cheers. To our freedom."

"Our freedom, and to us."

The bottles made a _clink_ and they each took a swig. When they were finished, their actions led elsewhere, 'christening' in the fashion of Jonathan's former implication.

Thrusting wildly, Jonathan felt as if he were about to burst inside his companion, but Jervis hadn't peaked, so Jonathan bit his lip and switched tactics, pausing between each movement before driving in with full force. A hand shot to his straining stomach.

"No wait," Jervis said, "you're gonna' make me—"

"Yes, baby, _yes_," he replied.

Jervis reached his end with a soft cry, and Jonathan followed suit. Afterward, they rested on the couch, stretching like two languid cats under the sun. Jervis's hair was a mess, tousled and wild and wonderful looking, like some foreign, earthen sprite sent from a boundless world of idle joys. Jonathan laced it through his fingers, thinking of gold, and pulled him closer to breathe in the scent from his scalp.

The rest of their week was spent eating, laughing, and sexing until Monday morning when they both woke early in a tangle of limbs. Jonathan reached over his partner to silence the shrill sound of the alarm and yawned wide while Jervis groaned against his pillow.

"We gotta' get up," Jonathan said in a deep, barely audible voice.

Jervis grumbled and pulled the covers over his head in response. There was no talking as both men got to their feet, but Jonathan managed to make some coffee while Jervis took a short shower.

When Jervis was finished he stepped into the room dressed in a suit jacket and fitted, dark-blue jeans. Jonathan couldn't help but notice the way they accentuated his rear.

"I don't want to go to work," Jervis said with a frown.

"Neither do I," he replied.

"We should relax again tonight." Jervis poured himself some of the fresh coffee. "In fact, that's all I want to do… just be with you."

Jonathan shook his head a bit. "Aw."

"Work is stupid."

"You'll make it. I promise, we'll be together tonight. Every night."

Jervis's expression melted into a wide smile. "Very well."

Shortly thereafter, Jervis departed for the metro heading uptown towards Wayne Enterprises, leaving Jonathan to finish readying himself for the first class he would teach since before becoming a criminal.

He was very nervous, yet excited to get back into the classroom.

He showered, dressed, ate, then walked out the door, his dark brown suit pressed free of wrinkles and his white dress-shirt tucked against his lanky frame. On his way, he stopped for coffee, sighing when the woman at the counter turned around to retrieve his request without a second glance at his face.

The day was starting off well. No one seemed to know who he was; that or no one seemed to care. Either way, he walked the few blocks down the semi-busy side street with an imperceptible skip in his step, his leather briefcase held in one hand and the hot coffee in his other.

Upon reaching the University, he stopped for a moment to take in the sights and sounds of the campus. Students gathered in clusters on the quad squares of scant grass, some with textbooks gripped over their laps in an attempt to complete unfinished reading, others laughing and playfully pushing their friends.

It was beautiful.

So many minds, so many futures, so many wonderful opportunities for these young, impetuous thinkers; they had a _chance_—a real, fighting chance. And he was part of it. The thought made him giddy with anticipation. But, no matter how much excitement he contained, he couldn't rob them of their limelight—it was their time to shine, not his.

So, with a deep breath, he calmed himself, trying to maintain the demeanor expected of a licensed professor, and walked through the campus to the main doors.

The building was huge, circling most of the campus in the shape of a rectangle. The front had three wide arches supported by elegant pillars with two broad doors underneath. Beyond the doors stood a group of security guards beside a metal detector through which every student had to pass—one for coming in, one for going out.

Jonathan stared at the devices, suddenly reminded of Arkham. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. _Metal detectors in the main hall? _he thought_. My God, I really _have_ been away for a long time_.

Though it bothered him, Jonathan took out his school identification and stepped through one of the detectors without a problem. He took his keys and briefcase at the end of the rolling table and continued down the long hallway towards where he last remembered the science wing, yet when he came to the other end and glanced at the sign on the corner, he realized he was lost.

The arrow on the pewter sign pointed further down, indicating the mathematics department. Taking a right would swing him around to the business end. He stared at the sign, brain frozen in sudden anxiety until someone spoke up from behind him.

"Need some help?"

Jonathan spun to see a black student with dreaded hair. "Yes," he replied, perhaps too quickly. "Yes, I need to find room 212D."

The young man's face lit up. "That's where I'm headed now."

Jonathan walked with the student in the opposite direction, up a flight of stairs, then to the corner of the wing, all the while listening to the young man chat about this and that—pointless stuff really.

As they came closer to the room, the boy mentioned the professor who was to teach their class, saying that the man was supposedly crazy, that he'd escaped Arkham to lead a normal life, and that Bruce Wayne himself had unlocked the doorway that helped set him free. This ex-Arkham teacher was also, by all accounts, a pervert. Jonathan's brow rose as he watched the back of the boy's head with a growing concern.

_Is this little punk for real? _he thought_. I don't look _that_ young, and I certainly don't look like a student._

"Well, this is it," the boy said. "Class is packed to full capacity, so hopefully we can find a seat. I hear everyone wanted to take it. What's your name?"

Jonathan took the young man's outstretched palm and shook firmly. "My name is Jonathan Crane." He squeezed. "_Professor_ Crane to you."

He'd hoped the boy would recoil in fear or embarrassment, but to Jonathan's surprise the little lout kept his smile. "I know," he said, turning to strut through the door.

For a moment, Jonathan lost his breath. He had to regain himself before marching into the room. He moved as if he were too busy rushing in rather than be caught up in the petty pranks of some snotty group of jock shits.

The room went silent as he slammed his briefcase on the island desk. Surrounded by seating that expanded upward, he felt pinned right in the middle, like a caged animal on display in a small amphitheater full of curious onlookers.

He felt like a freak.

But rather then cower like he so often had in Arkham, the side of him that knew how to command a classroom kicked in.

He sighed and placed his hands on the desk. "Alright," he said, prickling. "You all know who I am, so I'm not going to introduce myself. I'm not even going to pass out a syllabus. All I'm going to do is tell you about the work load you'll encounter in my class. Then we'll move on to the real deal. Questions?"

A mass of hands went up. His jaw set at the sight.

"You—" he said, pointing. "In the green. Stand up."

"Is it true you're the Scarecrow?"

"Stupid question. Moving on. You. Blonde. Up."

"People say you're crazy—that you go out to cornfields and eat raw corn with the crows."

"That wasn't a question. Next. You, in the football shirt."

"I hear the Bat's a real hunk. Is he as good looking in person as he is on the news?"

Laughter—male athletes. Jonathan's set jaw jutted out in slight anger. "I can give him your number the next time I see him. But I don't think you're his type, sweetheart."

More laughter. More hands. He sighed.

"You. In the back. Question?"

"Uh, yeah… are you, like, _available_?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes as the class erupted. This parade of ridiculousness was over. He held up his hands. "Alright, anyone who's not serious about this class, pack your things and get out."

Nobody moved.

Jonathan's eyes surveyed the room with a cold distance. "Fine," he said. "We'll do this the hard way. Who here has already taken this class and happened to go unnoticed in signing up for it again?"

A few timid hands reached in the air.

"Go," Jonathan commanded. He motioned at the door.

The students gathered their books and laptops then left.

"Who here has absolutely no idea what this class is about?"

Half the classroom raised their hands. Jonathan smiled and gestured his hands in a large, sarcastic, swooping motion for the door. The students got the point.

When that bunch had cleared he went on to say, "Good. For those of you left who don't like to work, please be advised—I run my classroom with the presumption that you all want a spectacular education and are willing to slave night and day for that goal. I assign homework every week, plus a reading and a ten page essay on each reading. There will be homework on holidays as well as over the break. I expect homework to take twice as long as class work. Anything less and you're not studying enough. I'm not here to play around or be your friend, I'm here to make you think, to bend your minds past your ill-conceived notions of greatness."

He paused. "Now, is there any of you that don't think you can handle such a course? Please, be my guest and drop the class. There will be one next semester—a condensed version. I won't be teaching it."

Half the students of the half that remained leisurely rose from their seats and made their way for the exit. Jonathan didn't watch them go. Instead, he got right down to business and ordered his ten remaining students to open their books. At the end of the class he handed out a syllabus and congratulated his students on their first and last day of codling, then watched them as they shuffled off.

Running his palm through his hair, he finally took a moment to breath, letting himself feel the tense fire in his nerves. Though it was not a complete disaster, the day felt ruined. Who was he kidding? Could he even _do_ this? He didn't want to think of Arkham any longer, but it seemed Arkham would follow him around for the rest of his life through others, even though he knew it was only his first week out.

Then Jervis came to mind.

Straightening his posture, he rearranged his papers into a neat pile on the desk and packed his briefcase, but as he stood to leave, a girl came in, her hair flowing a beautiful, golden yellow—like Jervis's—and her eyes a gentle froth of sea green.

Along with her startlingly good-looks, she completed her image with a tight, maroon dress that showed off her sculpted body. Jonathan caught himself staring at the shapely crest of her cleavage and focused his eyes elsewhere. She didn't seem to notice.

"Hi… Professor Crane?" she asked and tilted her head so that her hair fell charmingly against her face. "Um, I'm sorry. My name is Rebecca Low. There was some confusion with the sign up list, and well, anyway, I ended up being in the wrong class. They said, like, a bunch of students just dropped this course, so they stuck me in here, and I thought since I missed it… you might, like, have some work for me?"

That smile. The hair. Her figure! His throat was tightening. This young student of his was a bombshell—pure and simple. It was like he was in a trance, fixed in place by her eyes.

Then Jervis flitted across his mind, and the spell she'd cast upon him broke.

"Yes," he replied, all business. "Yes, I do. I have the first assignment of the semester here, along with the syllabus. I trust you have the two books required for the class? Good. You'll have no trouble with me then."

She looked down, a humble, yet pleasing action that made it hard not to lift her head back up to see her porcelain features. It took everything in Jonathan's power not to take another glance at her magnificent bust.

With her requested assignment, she left the room.

Slinking undulations, like millipedes crawling up his body, made Jonathan shiver with guilt. It was so foreign to him.

_Jervis… I've done you wrong_, he thought with regret.

If he were being completely honest with himself, he knew—in a moment of wild, unexplained frenzy—that he wanted the girl, wanted to feel her beneath him with a pure, natural, masculine lust.

But he had to dash the thoughts away as if they were wasps circling his head.

Shame made him cast his head down as he gathered his things to return home. When he stepped through the door, he put his briefcase down and began to read, then fell asleep on the couch. Hours later, he awoke with a jolt at the sound of a metal pan hitting the stove.

Jervis cursed in a whispered voice and peered over the island counter. "Sorry," he mumbled. Jonathan rubbed his tired eyes and rose to his feet, realizing how long he'd slept. He hurried toward the kitchen.

"Jervis. God, I meant to make… I-I fell asleep."

"I could see that," Jervis replied. There was a hint of annoyance in his tone, but he didn't seem too upset. He stood on his stool, raised, and brushed his hair behind his ear.

God, he was such an ass. Here he was, working the bare minimum, making the bare minimum, eyeing up students, then falling asleep on the couch, leaving Jervis to do the work of cooking for them both. Again. And he hadn't even cleaned the place. The guilt from before began to rise, and Jonathan found himself rubbing his partners shoulders.

"Jervis," he said, near breathless. _I owe you more then I give_.

The other man sighed. "What is it, Jonathan?"

He couldn't bring himself to say. He tried to answer, but it came out in short, formless breaths.

"I'm trying to cook, Jonathan."

Without thinking, Jonathan took the other man's shoulders and turned him around. Jervis opened his mouth to protest, but at that same moment Jonathan fell to his knees in front of his companion, undoing the other's pants to let them fall.

Needful hands snaked their way into Jonathan's hair, tugging, coaxing, setting the rhythm, and soon the soft flesh he'd taken in his mouth grew hard as it slid past his parted lips. It was too much. He choked some, trying to breath, but Jervis's grip kept him steady, unmoving, so he placed his hands on the man's hips.

"Need to breath," he managed to gasp.

Jervis immediately accommodated him. "Sorry…" was all he could say.

They continued, but Jervis kept his hands behind himself rather than gripped on the back of Jonathan's skull, and Jonathan in turn was able to suppress the natural gag reflex from the back of his throat to take his partner further.

When Jervis panted his approaching climax, Jonathan panicked and drew back, but Jervis's hand shot out to hold him near while the other went to finish what he'd started.

Jonathan glanced up, saw Jervis peering down at him with adoring eyes, and decided to make the best of the experience by opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue. He closed his eyes in waiting.

A moment after, Jervis let loose a loud cry, and Jonathan felt liquid beads of warmth on his cheek and tongue, a strange sensation, not to mention a particularly odd flavor, but not unpleasant. Jervis thumbed more of the taste past his lips and Jonathan lapped at it, opening his eyes.

The left side of his new glasses was dirtied. Jervis kissed him.

"_That_," he said low, "was _fucking_ _hot_."

Jonathan chuckled in embarrassment.

"_Where_ in God's name did you learn to do _that_?" Jervis was catching his breath, but it was obvious he needed a few minutes. "_That_ was no amateur performance, my Jonathan."

"You should turn off the burner on the stove," Jonathan replied.

Jervis's grin was so big it looked as if it would tear his face. "You little _minx_."

"Don't make a big deal out of it," Jonathan said and rose to his feet. He wiped at his face. "You're making me all self-conscious."

Jervis smiled, eyes half-lidded. Jonathan opened a drawer to retrieve a utensil to help Jervis with the meal, but Jervis put a hand on his wrist to stop him.

"Jonathan, dinner is taken care of." He pried the utensil from Jonathan's hand. "Besides, your face is covered. Go wash."

Feeling the red swell to his cheeks, Jonathan obliged his companion and made his way for their bathroom, but before going Jervis asked, "What was that all about? Really, tell me."

Jonathan paused. "I don't know," he said. He felt light-headed. "I feel like I'm changing. I suppose this is what it's like."

"What is what like?"

"Being on the other side."

"Hm?"

Jonathan shook. "I don't do enough for you, Jerv. I ought to be giving more. You're the biggest reason I'm here."

Jervis barked with laughter. "You do _that_ for me and we're good—on all fronts."

The sounds of Jervis chuckling followed Jonathan into the bathroom until he shut the door. He washed his face and hands, brushed his teeth, then looked up at himself in the mirror. For once he saw only himself there, no one else lingering in the hidden depths of his eyes.

And he was ok with it.


	26. Wine and Bad Luck: Part I

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Wine and Bad Luck: Part I  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 4,353  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Batman, other  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan and Jervis make a trip to the corner store for some wine. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, violence, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: Please be advise—**this one has violence and derogatory swears**. But no more than an HBO show.

Again, thank you to those that take the time to review. Your comments always help shape the next chapter.

deviantart page: xcrowscrowx

R&R

**Wine and Bad Luck: Part I**

Jonathan leaned over the stove, opened the oven just enough to feel the internal heat, and sucked in a large breath through his nose, savoring the smell. Jervis playfully pushed him away. "Do you mind?" the blonde man said, standing on a stool using the top of the stove as a counter. He pretended to be miffed though his smile betrayed him. "I'm trying to make you dinner."

The pork pie was stuffed with leeks and cumin and cayenne pepper, wrapped in a hot water crust pastry that appeared as delicious as it was undoubtedly fattening. Jonathan didn't care. He'd gained a good five pounds eating Jervis's rich cooking and was feeling more than confident about his current weight. Even the physician he'd gone to see shortly after their release had told him he was well on his way to a healthy body mass. So he kept eating, and Jervis kept cooking, though Jonathan was improving his own culinary skills, occasionally making them both breakfast before Jervis had to rush out the door for work.

Jonathan wrapped his arms around his partner's waist, resting his angular chin on the top of the man's blonde head. He chuckled to himself. "You're so full of it. You're making this for yourself. I don't go out of my way for Brit food."

"Well…" Jervis started, tensing. Jonathan could feel the other man's shoulders go stiff, but he stayed quiet. Jervis sighed. "Robert knows I like to cook. He suggested I make something my… mother… used to make."

"You liked this particular dish?"

"It was one of my favorites. Still is." Jervis didn't offer more, so Jonathan hugged him closer and watched his small hands knead a lump of moist dough.

"What's that gonna' be?" he asked.

"A seed loaf," Jervis replied. His mood lightened when the topic changed. "Though I'm running low on poppy seeds thanks to your forgetting them at the store. Really, how hard can grocery shopping be? You simply check off what's on the list."

Jonathan smiled mischievously. "Aw, you need some seed? I got some seed. I got lots of seed for you, hunny."

"Really, now?" Jervis said, feigning surprise. He twisted his head, glanced at Jonathan in the eye. "Tell me more."

"Well, I got a whole _sack_ full." Jonathan was now leering. "But you have to work to get it."

"Yes, well, as delightful as that sounds I hardly think it'll do for the bread." Jervis jabbed lightly with his elbow and Jonathan pulled back laughing.

One month. One.

It was a good chunk of time; though it passed them so fast Jonathan sometimes couldn't remember the day. In that short span, so much had happened, and yet their lives were eerily uneventful, remaining week to week, slow and lethargic. Jervis was doing exceptional at work, flourishing in an atmosphere favorable to his genius and tinkering hands, while also getting along rather well with the other employees. Perhaps it was Mr. Wayne's influence that kept staff polite, even if they didn't trust or like the ex-rogue, but Jervis came home in high spirits and Jonathan couldn't have been more content at seeing his partner's career prosper.

Jonathan, on the other hand, was finding it a bit difficult adjusting to his lectures, though after a few classes he was back in the swing of things without much grief. The students were tough, but he was far tougher, and they soon learned speaking behind his back or texting during a lecture was enough to get them kicked out. Jonathan whipped out demerits like it was no one's business, though he felt he was softening, especially around the girls. Cheerleaders had always been his weakness, and perky tits under those low-riding, v-neck tops would be the death of him.

But there was always his constant, his stability. His Jervis. Knowing he had a home and someone in it to come back to made all the difference in terms of out-patient recovery. Joan had been right, and Jonathan planned to tell her so next she came.

In the mean time, Jonathan enjoyed the peace he and his lover had created, though it hadn't been all painless.

The papers were persistent. Like bloodhounds, as soon as they picked up the trail they were on the ex-rogue's heels, taking pictures and shoving cameras with microphones in their faces. In fact, Jonathan didn't know which was worse—being together when the bombardment came, or being separate. There was more than one unflattering picture of each ex-criminal exhibited in the city's top papers, but Jonathan had nearly fainted upon seeing the Gotham Gazette's most recent front page, a rather embarrassing, poignant shot of he and Jervis on the metro, unaware of the covert paparazzi's continuous snapshots from his smartphone. The resulting photo depicted the two holding hands, Jervis tip-toeing up while Jonathan leaned down to plant a kiss on his partner's awaiting lips. It was a chaste act—Jonathan did not enjoy heavy PDA—but the papers had made it seem blasphemous.

_RECKLESS ROGUES RIDE METRO HAND IN HAND_, read the headline, then below, _ARKHAM ASYLUM'S NEW TREATMENT FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE: PAIRED PRISONERS._

It was absolutely embarrassing. Jonathan had read every enraging word. It was not the fact that they were 'homosexual' as the papers had so delicately put it, but that they were still viewed as criminals bent on the destruction of Gotham City. It called attention to them. And Jonathan didn't want any more attention.

Jervis on the other hand dealt with the situation well, holding his head high in the face of the paper's exaggerated remarks and the press's assembly outside their apartment building—which ended when the GCDP, lead by the Commissioner, escorted every 'trespasser' away from the premises. They came back, the reporters that was, but just one or two, and when they couldn't catch sight of either ex-rogue they left.

But through every moment, every pang of humiliation, every bout of impotent rage, Jonathan could not have wanted things any different. The ugliness was worth what was to come: the beginning of their lives together as normal people.

Jervis brushed back a lock of unruly hair behind his ear. "Oh damn," he said and turned to Jonathan.

"Forget something?" Jonathan asked, leaning against the island counter.

"I didn't put wine on the list."

"Probably good, we shouldn't be drinking."

Jervis waved the response off. "Nonsense, one small glass wouldn't hurt. Besides, I want this night to be special." He smiled, the white of his buck teeth drawing Jonathan's gaze and making him sigh.

"Alright, fine," Jonathan said. "Bottle of Arbor Mist or something."

Jervis's nose scrunched as if he'd been forced to breath in the rank smell of a dead fish. "No, no, no. That simply won't do."

"I like it."

"You're a light-weight. No, Jonathan, I want _good_ wine, something like a Pinot Noir. I'm not sure, I once had a nice red Côtes du Rhône in France paired with a meat pie before coming to the states, but we should—"

Jonathan grabbed the still talking man's button-down shirt and took his mouth. Once the kiss had ended, Jervis stood silent and licked his reddened lips.

"Shut up," Jonathan finally whispered, slipping on his coat.

Jervis put on his shoes while Jonathan peered beyond the drapery of their window. "We look clear," he said, taking note of the empty street.

"Why, I take it you don't want to be _seen_ with me, Jonathan, dear."

Jonathan withdrew from the window and smirked. "Oh, you know, you cramp my style."

Jervis threw on his coat, grasping Jonathan's offered hand, and both were out the door.

The sidewalks were dimly lit. The tall streetlamps cast yellow light, shading the alleys and tiny apartment yards where chained dogs barked. Teenagers would often hang around the corner, likely selling drugs or vandalizing property with their spray-cans of vibrant paint, but none could be seen as the couple strolled casually towards their destination. On the corner of 18th and State—two blocks from the ex-rogue's apartment building—was a little store with a foreign owner who could only say a few phrases in English.

The store sold a number of items: groceries, fresh fruit, cigarettes, snacks, beer and wine. It wasn't the best, but it was close, and Jonathan liked being able to walk to it without stepping foot on the metro.

Both men walked side by side, enjoying the cool breeze that drifted in from the harbors surrounding the river's wide bay. Normally the city air was stale, stagnant, but in the evenings, when the sun fell behind the horizon and autumn pressured summer's end, the air was fresh, chilled by the impending change of season.

Jonathan held the door open for Jervis when they arrived at the store. Letting Jervis pick the type and vintage, Jonathan then insisted on purchasing the bottle when his partner pulled out some cash. He didn't make much on a professor's salary, especially with his disturbing past and the limited classes he was teaching, but it made him feel good to provide for his companion.

_This is what it feels like. This is what freedom truly is_, he thought when seeing the adoring expression on Jervis's face as the man behind the counter bagged their bottle. _It's being able to be good to you._

They left the store, Jonathan cradling the bagged wine against his side, both walking along at a leisurely pace. Upon seeing the streets empty, Jonathan slid his hand down Jervis's arm. Jervis looked up at him, eyes half-lidded, and cupped the hand in his own, but Jonathan maneuvered his fingers so they laced. Jervis let out a long sigh.

Half-way back to their building, Jonathan heard a slight crash coming from the alley ahead, and as they neared a black cat shot out in front of them.

"Bad luck," Jonathan said, watching the cat race across the street.

"I don't believe in that nonsense," Jervis replied.

When they walked by the entrance of the alley, Jonathan turned to look, but the butt-end of a metal baseball bat hit him so hard in the face his vision went black.

* * *

Garbled voices woke him. His first instinct was to stand, but he stumbled forward like a drunkard. He remembered saying something about luck, but he couldn't for the life of him remember why.

Then, as always, Jervis came to mind, and he called the other man's name as if he were an animal crying for its lost mate. Again, voices spoke, a rumbling to join the horrible buzz in the front of his head. A few more frantic heartbeats and the voices became clearer.

"… so hard, I think you made him retarded, Raff."

"He got in the way of my bat."

Harsh laughter surrounded Jonathan, making him twitch, and he called for Jervis again, realizing from the strange way his mouth formed the name that something was wrong. He was hurt. His mouth seemed distorted, nerves on end. He felt his face, his nose, and his fingers came back wet. Red.

And then the pain came.

"He's coming around," a new voice said.

"Good, I was worried he'd miss the show."

Jonathan was able to see now, and he recognized the grungy, trash filled atmosphere of the typical Gotham alleyway. He was forced to stand, held from both sides by his limp arms, dragged a few steps. He moaned, his head fell forward, nose throbbing with such ferocity it was unimaginable.

"Don't let him pass out again."

A palm slapped his face, but the punch to his gut was what made his eyes shoot wide open. He tried to breath but the pain was brutal.

"Hey. _Hey_. Wake up, hm?" Fingers snapped in his face. "I swear ta' God, you don't answer me now and your cock-sucking friend gets his faggit face cut up real good."

Jonathan compelled himself to suck in a breath and responded, "Don't hurt us."

They laughed. Jonathan took the moment to glance about. Two men held him up, muscular, thick-waists, sinister grins. A man was in front of him, sinewy, sharp nose, pencil mustache. Jonathan remembered that face… he cringed. "It wasn't our fault, the bat—"

"Ah-ah-ah, no, no," Amelio said, wagging his jagged finger. "We're past excuses, now. Mr. Falcone doesn't like excuses. Tio, hold him."

An unseen third man put his arm around Jonathan's neck. He was bound by powerfully built limbs, one in particular able to snap his spine with a firm twist, but still his concern went to the only person that mattered. "Please, don't hurt him. Hurt me if you must, but leave him out of this."

"Actually, I have specific orders _not_ to hurt you. Well, not bad enough to _kill_ you. Oh, that reminds me, I almost forgot." He moved off to the side in one suave step. If it weren't for Tio's massive hand covering his mouth, Jonathan would have shrieked.

Jervis was held upright by another assailant, his slumping body propped on his feet like a lifeless ragdoll. Two other men, one familiar—heavy man, homely face—one new—handsome, long hair pulled back—stood to each side, all forming a small circle with Jervis in the center. Even from the distance and the darkness, Jonathan could see the bruises swelling on his partner's face. The man's shirt had been torn, his wallet taken, rifled through, thrown on the ground beside Jonathan's, and his shaggy hair had been encrusted with blood, dirt, and grime. He swayed, his eyes fluttering and his head lulling back before the man gripping his arm shook him conscious.

"Oh, God," Jonathan could hear himself say when Tio's hand moved. "Jervis, baby, hold on."

He should have known that was the wrong thing to say. Falcone's thugs laughed.

"_Ooh_, baby, _hold on_," one said. "Hold on, baby, I'm _coming_ for you."

They all sniggered and joined in, crowing insults and slander. The one holding Jervis pushed him, and the other men followed suit.

Amelio ended it with a raised hand. "Shut up. Keep quiet. You want Gotham's finest comin' and ruining our fun?"

"Get to it then," one replied.

Jonathan licked his lips and tasted the metallic flavor of his own blood. "Tell Falcone we're sorry. Tell him we understand his message. Tell him we'd never purposefully cross him—"

"Yeah, yeah," Amelio said. "I'll be sure to tell him that. Now, put your hands out and take your punishment like a good school boy."

Jonathan struggled but the grip around his neck was close to choking him. He gritted his teeth, wishing for his fear-gas, wanting to scream, but in the end it was Jervis who barked in response.

"Fuck you, Amelio, you beastly _fuck_." The words came from Jervis's mouth like a rattle snake's bite, and he sneered, showing red-stained teeth.

Amelio put his hand to his forehead. "I'll get to you in a moment, shit-licker. First, I want you to see us kick the crap out of your darlin'."

It happened so fact Jonathan barely had time to react. Amelio went to Jervis, pulled out a spring-loaded knife, and started to slice pieces of Jervis's hair from his head, uncaring of the blade's proximity to Jervis's skull. A wad of golden locks mixed with speckles of blood collected in Amelio's hand, forming a ball, and he sauntered over and shoved the ball into Jonathan's mouth.

Instinctively, Jonathan tried to spit the hair out, but hands clasped on his jaw, keeping his teeth together. Duck tape was then wound around his head, covering his mouth up to his broken nose, and he was forced to his knees.

Amelio crouched, sticking the double-edged knife up for Jonathan to see. "Lucky." The knife retracted to its home within the handle, sparing him.

But the beating still came.

The sounds of Jervis's cries could be heard over the whack of fists connecting with flesh until Amelio silenced the blonde man with tape the same way he had done to Jonathan, thrusting a dirty sock in Jervis's mouth instead of hair.

Knees snapped up into Jonathan's stomach, knuckles crushed against his cheeks, into his ribs, his sides, his chest. He felt himself slipping, saw the blackness closing in around his vision, but before he succumbed to its pull the hits stopped.

Where once the hollowed smacking of skin could be heard, now was replaced with Jonathan's ragged breathing as he sucked in air through his broken nose. Amelio had put his thin hand up, ceasing the three on one thrashing, and motioned for the assailants to hold Jonathan up on his knees as they had before.

"They both look like hell," the man holding Jonathan's left arm said. "Job well done?"

"We're not finished here," Amelio replied, his smile menacing.

One of the three men behind Amelio piped up. "We kicked the shit outta' both of 'em. We're not supposed to do 'em in, man."

"Falcone would be pissed," another said matter-of-factly.

Amelio snapped his response. "The boss said _nothing_ about the midget. The scrawny one, yeah, but the other is fair game. Put 'em up on a trash can, hold him where his fag lover can see 'em."

Jonathan struggled as he watched two of the three men surrounding Jervis pick him up by the arms. The third moved an empty, metal trash can and flipped it over. They slammed Jervis onto the can, gripping both his arms and flailing legs. Jonathan shouted, but his voice was muffled from the tape.

Amelio snickered while his thugs kept Jervis bound. He picked up a paper bag that was kept off to the side. In it was the wine the two ex-criminals had bought, the glass still intact from Jonathan's unexpected collapse. Amelio peeled the tin wrapping from the top and pressed the cork down through the bottle's neck with his knife, then took a long swig.

"Not bad," he said. "Not good, but not bad. I thought queers were better at this shit then us straight guys. Superior tastes, superior sense of decorating. I have to say, I'm not really that impressed, boys." He sauntered over to Jervis and poured half the bottle on the man's head, further soiling what was left of his hair. Jervis jerked, his nostrils flaring and his glare full of hatred.

Amelio turned to look over his shoulder, stepping between Jervis's thighs and thrusting his hips forward. He smirked so Jonathan could see, licking his lips as if he were about to sink his teeth into a succulent steak.

It was all a farce, Jonathan knew, but he couldn't help himself. He thrashed against his attackers hold, screaming threats and obscenities despite the tape covering his mouth. He fought so hard against them he wouldn't have been surprised if his arms popped out of their sockets, yet he didn't care. Amelio was baiting him, it was quite obvious, and he was doing exactly what the man wanted.

The other thugs jeered, taunting with low, almost childish noises as Amelio drove his hips further, taking Jervis's leg and gripping it, caressing with mock enjoyment.

And Jervis, being Jervis, took the opportunity to snap the ball of his little foot into the man's unprotected groin.

Jonathan's eyes widened as Amelio staggered with an _umph_, sucking in a breath through his clenched teeth and leaning his hand on the nearby wall. The surrounding thugs were quiet. One made a slight grimace, perhaps strangely for Jervis more than his injured leader.

Amelio pulled himself together, slicking back his already slicked, dark hair, and gave a strained smile that bordered on possessed. "_You_," he said with such menace it stung Jonathan's ears. He pointed his jagged finger at Jervis. "You're gonna' wish you _never_ did that."

The enraged man took one step forward, grabbed Jervis's right wrist, then cracked his pinky to the side. Jonathan watched in suppressed horror as Jervis screamed in pain. The sound, though muffled by tape, made Jonathan's eyes water, and soon tears were spilling down his cheeks, trickling over the binding around his mouth.

But if Amelio thought a broken finger would make Jervis submit, he had another thing coming. Jervis kicked wildly, aiming to hit Amelio again, but the thug who was once holding Jervis's wrist jumped on his legs before any blows could land.

Jonathan cried weakly, dropping his head forward to escape the sight of the scene, but Tio gripped his hair and made him look.

Amelio broke another of Jervis's digits, this time the ring finger, but Jervis still fought. A fire burned in the blonde man's blue eyes, a frightening flame Jonathan had never seen before. The event was painful to watch, but Jonathan wasn't sure who was suffering more—Jervis or himself.

Finally, Amelio caught on. "I'm going about this the wrong way," he said. He backpedaled for Jervis to see, stopping inches from Jonathan's palms held to the ground. Lifting his foot, he stomped Jonathan's fingers, digging his heel into flesh and bone.

Jonathan blacked out. Came to. Blacked out again.

When he came to once more he stayed, swaying, his captor's keeping him upright. No doubt a few fingers were broken, but the hurt was beginning to numb. He found Jervis's eyes, saw their defiant flame subdued, saw them saying 'I'm sorry.'

It was all coming to an end. Jonathan couldn't even understand Amelio when next the man spoke. He broke the wine bottle on the ally wall, tore off Jervis's shirt, began running the sharp edge of the glass along Jervis's neck and chest, enough to tickle. Jonathan's head was forced up, his eyes kept open by Tio's thumbs.

Amelio said something, laughed, began ripping at Jervis's belt and pants, flicked out his spring-loaded knife, cut through gray boxer-briefs. His knife was up in the air, glinting in Jonathan's tear-filled eyes, and suddenly it was gone.

"Goddamnit!" Amelio said and cradled his bleeding hand. The knife skittered across the alley, retracting into its handle by the force of its fall.

And Amelio was crushed to the ground by a pair of hulking, black boots that seemed to descend from the sky.

"It's the bat!" cried Tio.

With that brief distraction, Jonathan coiled his limbs to attack. He jerked from his assailant's holds and cracked his forehead against Tio's. The man stumbled. Jonathan shot a leg into another's gut, a fist into the remaining one's face.

The fight ensued. The bat took down two at once, then another, then hurled three bolas at the thugs on Jonathan's end, sending one to the ground curling in pain and the other two entangled.

Jonathan tore at his tape, freeing his mouth. In the time it took to do that, he realized the bat was speaking to the last remaining of the gang.

Amelio stood hunched, his lip bleeding, knife back in hand, Jervis held out like a human shield, gripped around the waist with the blade at his throat. "Not another step, bat," he said, growling like a trapped dog. "Not one more step!"

"Jervis!" Jonathan cried. "Let him go!"

"Quiet," the Batman said. His voice was so low it rumbled like thunder.

Seeing Jervis dangle in Amelio's grasp, his clothes torn to shreds and a knife to his soft throat, made Jonathan cry all over again.

"It'll be alright," the dark knight whispered.

Amelio heard. "I'll slice his throat! I'll do it! You won't take me to Blackgate without this little shit's blood washing the alley red, Batman!"

"I'm not going to take you anywhere," Batman replied. "I need someone to tell Carmine these two aren't his personal punching bags."

"He _owns_ this city," Amelio spat. "Anyone's his punching bag."

"Not these two. They're respected citizens of Gotham, they've earned their rights in society, and as members of society they're protected. By _me_."

Amelio circled with Jervis, taking small steps towards the entrance to the alleyway. In turn, the Batman stepped the opposite direction slowly, moving Jonathan along with him by the shoulder.

"What's to say you won't come after me, Bats?" Amelio asked. "Sorry, but your word won't do you no good."

"We'll have a deal. You know I know where you're hideaway is. Let this man go unharmed and I won't chase you for this crime. Let him go and we'll walk our separate ways, and you can relay what I've said to Carmine."

It happened too fast. Amelio followed through, dropping Jervis to the ground and spinning on his heels to run. A bargain settled. And yet blood seeped between Jervis's fingers. It dripped, forming small pools under his naked, shivering body.

"JERVIS!"

Jonathan ran to the blonde's side while the Batman swooped past, charging for Amelio. "Oh my God, Jervis, _no_!" Jonathan said, tears blurring his vision.

The Batman came back, crouching over the two, taking one of his tools from his belt to cut the tape from Jervis's mouth. The sock came out and Jervis coughed. "I'm ok," he said, his voice horse. Jonathan shrieked the other man's name again as if he couldn't hear, pressing his hand on top of Jervis's to stop the blood flowing from the wound. He wrapped his coat around Jervis's shivering body and cradled the man in his arms, rocking forward and back, trembling while the Batman called the GCPD, the Hospital, and someone named Oracle. People came and tried to take the smaller man from his arms, fussing and speaking loudly, but he screeched and fought them.

_The cut isn't deep_, they said. _Let us help him_.

They kept repeating their words, over and over, but Jonathan couldn't hear them, not until Jervis took his hand and squeezed, saying, "You can let them take me, Jonathan, dear. I'll be alright."

Jonathan was put in the same ambulance as his companion, his body lurching as the vehicle sped off for the emergency room.

All the while the sirens wailed.


	27. Beer and Good Karma: Part II

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Beer and Good Karma: Part II  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,883  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Bruce Wayne, Joan Leland, Batman  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan and Jervis recover, but things seem like they're beginning to change between the two. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

Author's note: As usual, thank you to everyone who comments. Also, a **big thanks to Bandit-sama** for sending me a copy of the previously lost chapter 7. It is now up and edited.

Deviant art: xcrowscrowx.

R&R

Beer and Good Karma: Part II

"Gah! Not like that, you clumsy dunce!"

Jervis was lying on his back, hissing through clenched teeth. He jerked to his side from the pain. Jonathan whispered an apology and rearranged the fluffed pillow behind his companion, eager to make the blonde man more comfortable. It had been three weeks since the ex-rogues run-in with Amelio and crew, but no matter the length of time that separated them from the incident, Jonathan remained shaken, often waking in the middle of the night drenched in his own sweat with an awful wrath in the pit of his gut. Though his temper seethed beneath the skin, Jervis's was by contrast outward, apparent, and of course, very loud.

"Ahh! God_damnit_, Jonathan, pay attention!" Jervis yelled, his lips curling back into a sneer.

"I'm _sorry_," Jonathan shot back. He lifted the cast that held Jervis's right arm and tried to push another soft pillow beneath it, but the task was made harder by Jervis snarling at him like an angry, injured pit bull. Several times he had wanted to storm out of the room, but he knew he couldn't. Jervis needed him now, possibly more than ever.

It was not something Jonathan was used to. The switching in roles had him almost as irritated as Jervis.

Another hiss came from behind Jervis's teeth as Jonathan drew the covers up over the man's lap. Jonathan nearly rolled his eyes, but forced himself to refrain. It wasn't as if Jervis had nothing to complain about; the shorter man had suffered a fractured wrist, multiple broken fingers, two cracked ribs, a knife wound to the throat mended with fourteen stitches—all of which had been removed eight days later—a dislocated shoulder, and numerous scrapes and bruises that covered his body as if he were dressed in motley.

Yes, a black-and-blue jester, sprawled out and grimacing uncomfortably in their bed—that was Jervis.

The first night had been the worst; Jonathan remembered that small, beaten body writhing beneath the sheets at four in the morning, plagued with a high fever and wailing like a terrible banshee for him to make it stop, yet there was nothing Jonathan could do but spread a cold cloth across that burning forehead and hope to God they wouldn't have to make another trip to the hospital.

Nevertheless, no matter what he did to ease his partner's pain, there was still an awful guilt left inside, one that taunted him relentlessly.

While Jervis had suffered a mass of assorted injuries, Jonathan's were less so; he'd come home with bruises, sprains and scratches, of course, a fractured middle finger, an aching jaw, chest, and stomach, and a giant black eye. But that was all. Most of his bruises had faded within a couple weeks, appearing as slightly discolored splotches on the planes of his pale skin. His finger had also been secured in a cast, well on its way to being healed, though that hadn't inhibited him from day to day life as Jervis's injuries had.

And being bed bound for Jervis was akin to being nice for Jonathan—it was downright painful to see.

"When will I be able to get on my own damn feet again…" Jervis asked, a question Jonathan had come to learn was more a statement then anything.

"Another week at least," Jonathan replied. "You know the doctors said you have to take it easy. There's no getting around this, Jervis."

"I _know_ that."

Jonathan sighed. He supposed now was as good a time as any.

"I have to tell you something," he said. "You might not like it, but it had to be done."

Jervis gave him a skeptical look, his brow raised.

"I bought us a car."

As soon as that was said, Jervis slapped his hand to his forehead. "Jonathan! We don't have the money for that right now! What were you thinking? You didn't even ask me!"

"I didn't _ask_ because I knew you'd say _no_."

"You're damn right I'd say no. Not because I'd ever deny you, but because we can't afford it!"

"You're not commuting all the way to work on the metro anymore. I won't allow it, it's too dangerous."

Jervis barked out a cross laugh. "And your solution is to go behind my back and spend money we don't have?"

Jonathan appeared stern as he looked down at his companion. "Tack on the money to what we already owe. We'll pay it off soon enough."

Jervis chuckled some more, shaking his head. There was anger in his voice, but he kept it hidden, Jonathan could tell. "I can't believe you would go behind my back like that."

"Jervis," Jonathan said and took the blonde man's bruised face in his palms, "I couldn't bear to see you hurt again. _Don't_ argue with me on this. It's not the best, but it works. You'll take it to and from work and you _won't_ give me lip."

With a soft smile, Jervis placed his hands on Jonathan's face in the same fashion, though the one set in a cast at the wrist proved difficult for him to move. Still, those little hands caressed Jonathan's cheeks, and he nuzzled against the touch as the breath he had been holding escaped from his lungs. Jervis spoke softly, whispering. "And what of you, my selfless love? Is your safety not as equally important? Who's to say you shouldn't take this car you bought without my knowledge to work yourself?"

He inched closer, and Jonathan in turn found himself doing the same as they spoke to each other in hushed tones.

"Gotham University is only a few blocks from here," he said and licked his lips.

"All the more reason for me to worry."

"I can take care of myself. Plus, you have a knack for making enemies. It's I that should be worried about you."

"That's not entirely true."

"I told you not to give me any lip."

"But I thought you craved my lips…"

They kissed, delicately at first, then passionately, though Jonathan did his best not to aggravate his partner's injuries further. Regardless, it had been some time since last they were intimate given the severity of recent issues, but that didn't stop Jonathan from lapping at his partner's neck and collar until the baggy shirt on Jervis's frame that separated them was lifted, exposing flesh. Jonathan licked at a nipple and Jervis shuddered, digging his small, uninjured hand into the growing mess of Jonathan's chestnut hair. Jonathan pulled back.

"_Can we_?"

Jervis made a sad face. "I'm not sure such… physical activity… would be good for my mending bones."

Feeling like an idiot, Jonathan drew away and nodded. "Of course. I'm being ridiculous."

"Well, now, hold on a moment." Jervis took his hand, tugging him close again. "We don't have to give in so easily. There are other ways to be close… perhaps a change in positioning…" The pad of his thumb slid over Jonathan's trembling lower lip.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Jonathan replied.

Jervis's voice was barely a whisper. "I can be gentle…"

Jonathan noticed a tremor shoot up his spine at the implication and gnawed at his lip. He didn't think himself ready for such a thing but Jervis's gaze caught him in a trance. An arm slipped around his waist and pulled him carefully to straddle its owner's lap, and hands were suddenly on him, snaking beneath his shirt, beyond the band of his black jeans, over the clothed flesh of his rear. He meant to speak out, to decline, but Jervis ground their hips together and he could feel the hard swell under the coverings, and he was suddenly moving with the man, their hips rhythmic, parted by the layers of cloth between their skins.

Panting low, Jervis gripped Jonathan's ass and squeezed, saying, "Ride me, baby. You'll be in control. Oh, sweet oyster, ride my cock…"

_BRIIING_.

The two both ceased their suggestive motions.

_BRIIING_.

"Shit, that's probably Joan," Jonathan said, gliding off his partner to dash into the other room. Jervis could be heard behind him letting forth a rather deep growl of annoyance as he left. It didn't seem so, but Jonathan had been thankful for the interruption.

As he picked up the phone, he noticed the caller ID was not an Arkham number, but Joan's personal one. He smiled. "Hello?"

"Jonathan," she said happily.

"Joan," he said in the same tone.

They chatted for a time, she asking how he was feeling, inquiring about Jervis, he responding with enthusiasm that they were alright, happy even. She sounded impressed, and it made his heart flare to hear the joy in her voice.

"You should come by at some point, Joan," he said. "I can make dinner, or we could go out to lunch. We just bought a car—"

"Correction—_you_ bought a car," Jervis called irritably from the other room.

Jonathan ignored him. "—so I can take us out if you'd like."

"That sounds wonderful," Joan said. "How about in a couple of weeks? I have a lot on my plate right now, but I can't wait."

"It's a date then," Jonathan replied cheerfully.

They said their goodbyes and Jonathan hung up the phone, then ambled back into the bedroom where Jervis lay resting. The blonde man had a sour look on his face, but perked up when Jonathan came back. He gestured and Jonathan found himself sitting on the edge of the mattress gazing down at his companion.

"That was annoying, as our dear Joan tends to be," Jervis said. "Anyways, where were we…"

Jonathan deflected the hands that sought to circle his waist with his own and smiled. "I have to get ready for work."

A look of shock flitted across Jervis's features, then he was staring back with cold eyes. "Ah, I see."

"Don't be upset," Jonathan said. He made a show of pouting, but Jervis seemed to be more frustrated than anything.

"Go then. Get ready. Leave me to pain without pleasure."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. He stripped and turned on the shower, washed his hair and face and body, then after being rinsed clear of the suds stepped out again. He shaved, though he was never one to get heavy facial hair, put on deodorant, took a piss, and donned the brown suit that Jervis said made his waist look elegant, near feminine. When he was finally ready to leave he peeked his head in at Jervis, intent to say goodbye to his companion, but Jervis was asleep. He smiled warmly and tiptoed in to place a tender kiss against the man's forehead, then made for the door.

On the metro Jonathan reflected on his first day back after his weeks of absence. Jervis was fine now, though he didn't like the thought of leaving him. But Jonathan's class was only three hours. After that he would get to go home, so he bit the bullet and told himself Jervis would be fine.

His lecture hall was near empty upon the start of class—compliments of his first day telling students off—but he liked the size, thought it manageable. The students were good—they asked questions, listened intently, raised their hands, jotted down notes. All passed in their papers from the previous weeks he had been gone, and not one reported falling behind on their reading. He was impressed, so he let them leave early.

"Be sure to have the topics for your mid-term papers ready for me to see next week. You'll want my feedback. Have a good day," he said as they left. Most smiled and returned the nice words, some awkwardly darted their eyes at something else, but exited quietly. Rebecca—the girl who tended to wear the lowest cut shirts Jonathan had ever seen, gave him sultry eyes as she left, waving her hand as if she were clueless to her sexual appeal. He nodded and returned the gesture with a tight-lipped smile.

While he gathered his papers and books into his briefcase, he noticed a pair of students walking together hand in hand. It made him think of Jervis. He packed his things a little quicker.

Before he could reach the door, however, a man stepped through.

"Professor Crane," the playboy billionaire greeted.

Jonathan was surprise, but held out his hand. "Mr. Wayne," he said, stuttering, "m-my God, to what d-do I owe the pleasure, sir?"

Wayne gripped his hand and gave a firm shake. "I thought to stop by, see how you were doing. I heard about what happened."

Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah. Yes. That."

"Have you taken all the sick leave you can?"

"Well, yes, but I miss the classroom."

Mr. Wayne laughed. "I'm glad they have someone like you on staff then."

"Yes." Jonathan couldn't pinpoint it, but somehow he felt awkward in Wayne's presence. There was something strong and authoritative in the way the man moved, but it wasn't the swagger of a playboy billionaire. It was something else…

_DEET, DEET_.

Jonathan glanced down at his pocket.

_DEET, DEET_.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wayne, I have a call." Jonathan turned from the intimidating billionaire and opened his cell phone. It was Jervis. Jonathan smiled and began pacing leisurely as his companion requested something to drink for them both upon his return. Jervis made a joke and Jonathan laughed softly, said he would be home soon, and was about to hang up when Jervis whispered a provocative statement. Jonathan flushed.

"Jervis, I'm still in the classroom," he said. His cheeks were red.

"Then get your ass in gear," Jervis replied. "I want you home. Now."

He sighed. When he ended the conversation, he hung up the phone and stole a glance at Mr. Wayne. "Sorry, that was…"

"Jervis Tetch? How's he been? I've seen him seldom around the main building, but I don't often make it up to that portion of the facility."

"He's been alright."

"That's good to hear." Wayne leaned against the desk at the center of the hall. The strange, aggressive body language was still there—even if Mr. Wayne didn't know it—but as he bent next to the desk it seemed to ebb, making Jonathan feel a bit less anxious.

He smiled. "Yeah, we've been alright. If it weren't for Batman I think things would be quite different, but thankfully he showed up when he did. It's funny, I never could see the vigilante from any other view other then the way I saw him as a criminal, which isn't saying much, but now that he's rescued not only myself but my partner, I… well, I'm forever grateful for his help. It's weird to say, but I think he's what Gotham truly needs. A knight is the least they could call him. He's a protector of the innocent, almost an angel."

Wayne burst into laughter. "I suppose some look at him like that. Well, I myself have never needed his assistance, but I've heard he can kick some ass in that ridiculous getup."

Jonathan seemed wistful. "You'd be surprised what a costume can do…"

Mr. Wayne stared at him.

"Anyway," Jonathan continued, "I'm forever in debt to the man. Not that I'll be able to repay him. But still. The whole ordeal has shown me how fragile things are… so I plan to take Jervis out to a special dinner, just the two of us, to show him how much I… you know, _care_. Without Batman I would never have the opportunity, but now I suppose I have the balls to do what I know needs to be done."

Wayne had a thoughtful expression on his face.

Jonathan blushed again. "I'm sorry. I barely know you and I'm going on and on."

"Not at all. Where you planning on taking him?"

"… I was thinking of The Harbor Side."

"Oh no, no. Lucia's."

It was Jonathan's turn to laugh. "Of course, I forgot about the most expensive and unavailable place in Gotham." He stopped abruptly for fear of causing insult. "But seriously, I would never be able to reserve a seat there, it would take months. Plus, I doubt a classy joint like that would permit two men of questionable character such as myself and Jervis."

Mr. Wayne pulled out a cell phone, the latest and most high tech one to date. He smiled, dialed a number, then spoke into the receiver. "Hi, yes, this is Bruce Wayne. Yes. Make an arrangement for two in the back. No. Keep it reserved. Mm, let me see—" He covered the phone to ask, "Saturday, seven o'clock?"

Jonathan was speechless. Would that be enough time to get it? He supposed so; he had enough saved to make the purchase. But what of dinner? He couldn't afford _that_, and he certainly wasn't going to ask Jervis! And Jervis, oh—Jervis was still bed bound. "My partner is recovering from his injuries, Mr. Wayne. Also, I'm not sure that's something I can pay for."

"Call me Bruce," Wayne replied. Into the receiver he said, "Saturday, seven o'clock, but push it out three weeks from now. Yes, it'll be under a J. Crane. Uh huh. Thanks, you too." He hung up.

"Mr. Wayne," Jonathan started, "I couldn't possibly trouble you for something like this. Plus, I honestly can't afford it on what we're making now. We… owe a certain amount of money to the city for past damages, and I just bought a car—"

"Nonsense. It's on me."

Jonathan was once again struck speechless. All he could manage to say was, "How did you get us in on such short notice? Lucia's reserved literally all year."

"I own the place."

"That's insane!"

Wayne shrugged. "My parents always told me people that have should give."

Jonathan shot forward to grip that man's hand, cupping the backside of it with the other hand in a sincere gesture. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne. My God, I don't know what to say."

"Does he like Italian?"

"He likes _anything_ expensive," Jonathan replied with a joyful bark.

"Good."

"I can't thank you enough, Sir."

"Eh, don't worry about it." Wayne waved him off.

As both men made for the door to exit the lecture hall, Jonathan noticed he once again had a skip in his. This time he wouldn't lose it.

#

He crept into the room, tiptoeing his way around the bed. Jervis rolled to his side, having heard the soft footstep while drifting in and out of sleep. Jonathan grinned down at him.

"I got the stuff you wanted," he said deviously.

"Oh, give it here," Jervis said, holding out his uninjured hand. "I want one now."

Jonathan set a six pack of Budweiser bottles on the night stand next to Jervis's side of the mattress, but before handing his companion one he revealed what he held in the other hand kept behind his back. Jervis paused as he viewed the flower.

"Oh, Jonathan," he said. "Darling, it's lovely."

Gripped in Jonathan's fingers was a single, coral colored rose. "I thought you might like that." Without another word, he took the rose and two bottles of beer into the kitchen, intent to put the first in a vase and crack open the tops of the second.

When he came back he held the vase with the flower in one palm and the opened beers in the other. He set the vase down on the night stand and passed one of the bottles to his companion.

Jervis took a swig and smiled. "I love you."

Jonathan didn't speak. Instead, he placed a kiss on his partner's cheek.

"Will you never be able to return those words, love?" Jervis asked.

"Give me time, Jerv."

"It's hard speaking them, knowing you won't say them in return."

Jonathan bent forward to give his companion another chaste kiss. "It's not that I won't… it's more that I can't right now."

Jervis gave an exaggerated frown. "It pains me." He grinned. "But I suppose showing your love is just as good as speaking it, hm?"

_This again_? "I'm not so sure about that either…"

"Rubbish and radishes, come here."

Jonathan hesitated. He moved slowly, but Jervis took him by the pants and tugged until he was nestle comfortably on the man's lap. Kisses trailed up his arm, and he found himself smiling despite Jervis's intentions, though they remained in the forefront of his mind. The trail ended where his shirt covered his shoulder, but Jervis took his chin and drew him in. Their lips met, parted, tongues collided, and Jonathan was suddenly caught up in the passion of his partner's touch. It had been a month since they were last intimate, given the extent of their injuries, and Jonathan was finding it hard to pull back.

He watched from the corner of his eyes as Jervis's hands snake around his back to slide beneath the band of his loose-fitting jeans—the ones he often wore when in the comforts of their home—and felt the flesh of his ass being squeezed. "_Jervis_," he warned, his voice low.

But Jervis was fully absorbed in planting his lips over the muscles of Jonathan's stomach, his hands remaining where they were. A breeze from their opened window rolled through, grazing against Jonathan's back, and he shivered. Then Jervis stopped, his eyes looking off to the side beyond Jonathan's frame.

"Why, if it isn't our dear dark knight," Jervis said.

Jonathan whirled around on Jervis's lap, his face paling.

Jervis had been right. The vigilante stood beside their window, cast in shadows, his cape fluttering with the scant breeze. Jonathan looked at the man incredulously. "Really? You can knock, you know."

"Crane," the Batman said in greeting. "Tetch."

Jervis snorted. "I dare say our brave bat is almost as good at crime stopping as he is at _cock blocking_."

"_Jervis_," Jonathan said tersely.

The Batman seemed to ignore the comment. "I came to see how you were both doing."

"I'd say you came to watch," Jervis replied.

"We're fine," Jonathan said. "Thanks to you."

The dark knight nodded in acknowledgment. Jonathan glanced at Jervis, then eyed him until he spoke. "Yes," he said with a slight sneer, "we are in debt to you."

"No need," the batmen replied.

He turned to leave, placing one large, black boot upon the window sill, but looked back at them for a moment. "Falcone's men won't be bothering you. But you've made enemies. Watch yourselves." He eyed the bottles of beer on the night stand next to Jervis. "And don't do anything stupid."

And he was gone.

Jonathan went to the window to see him flying off, the cape he wore spread open like a kite in the wind.

Jervis seemed to be glowering. "Just because he shows up and saves the day doesn't mean he has the right to randomly come into our home."

"Jervis, don't be ridiculous. He saved your life. And mine. We owe him."

"I have other things on my mind." Jervis motioned, but Jonathan tactfully changed the topic.

"We have dinner reservations."

Jervis raised a brow. "Where?"

"Lucia's."

Jervis squealed. The rest of their night was spent cuddling, thankful for their recent good karma, enjoying the calm after the storm.


	28. Night of Opposites

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Night of Opposites  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 3,979  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan and Jervis get mushy, mushy on their night out. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

**Author's note**: This one is too mushy. Ugh.

**On another note**, the title of this chapter was inspired by the same title of the artwork done by **SeaGerdy** on deviantart. There is a link on my page. If you haven't please review for her, because it's really a great piece.

Deviantart: xcrowscrowx.

READ AND REVIEW. DO IT.

**Night of Opposites**

Peaceful little snores escaped Jervis's open mouth as he lay sprawled on their bed, the covers twisted through his legs and curling up over his chest. Jonathan remained next to him despite having woken, watching him breath, smiling when his nose twitched or when he turned and smacked his lips. Morning was no longer torturous for Jonathan, as he woke well rested and, for the most part, content. He liked to linger there, eyes trailing over the contours of his partner's physical features, taking in the sharp fragrance of citrus and pipe tobacco from the man's body and breath. Jervis's shaggy hair had been cut shorter, since the incident had left it chopped an odd length, but it was still golden and wavy, coiling down his brow and resting atop his closed eyelids. The bruises they had endured had also faded, and Jervis's wrist was set free of the cast he'd worn up until last week.

Things had healed. Jonathan was happier than ever.

At that moment Jervis shifted, and Jonathan could hear a faint fart emitted from beneath the covers. He smiled, chuckled, and rolled to spoon the blonde man, wrapping him in long securing arms. Slight groans of protest came, but Jonathan continued to steal kisses from Jervis's chapped lips until he spoke.

"Mmm, no," he said and stretched, groaning, "no, Jonathan, I have morning breath…" He trailed off and settled into another position on his side, facing away the opposite direction, seemingly falling back asleep.

It was no doubt true, Jervis's breath that was, and Jonathan was probably suffering from the same, yet he didn't let that stop him. _Alright, no kissing_, he thought as he pressed his hips into Jervis's backside. Jervis made another low sound.

Their lives had been recently lacking some good sex—in fact, their last time had been weeks ago, and wasn't as enjoyable as desired—but Jonathan meant to rectify that.

He swept off his shirt and pushed Jervis from his side onto his chest. The blonde man had on a pair of navy blue briefs beneath their covers, but they were soon slid down, revealing the rounded curves of his rear. Jonathan was already as stiff as we was bound to get, so he reached to the nightstand, opened the small drawer, and grabbed a clear bottle of oil. A dribble in his palm was all he needed to make his entrance slick and painless. Their unity was sometimes strained, limited, often kept at an emotional distance on Jonathan's part, but perhaps their violent assault seven weeks ago had forced him to see things differently, to let go of his silly inhibitions and touch his partner in ways he didn't think were possible for the man that he was, the harsh and uncaring bastard known as Jonathan Crane.

His hand went to Jervis's hair and gripped, making blonde tufts jut up through his fingers, and let tender words fall from his lips as he thrust, holding the crook of Jervis's hip to keep steady. Jervis reacted, moaning, until soon he cried out his release in high-pitched gasps. It was rare for either to achieve a physical peak without some persuasion involving their hands, but this time, whether circumstances were just right, or whether Jonathan had hit that sweet spot, Jervis reached his end without any attention to his cock at all.

After finishing, Jonathan felt he could go back to sleep, but instead made himself get up while Jervis did exactly that. He plodded towards the kitchen, deciding to make coffee while reading the newspaper. It was another hour until Jervis opened the door of their room and came leisurely swaying out for a seat at their cheap table. Jonathan rose and poured his partner a cup of the hot brew, then placed it in front of the man. Jervis took it without a word, blowing and sipping with his eyes shut.

Then he said, "You know, I had a dream that we were fucking, and I remember saying as much, but you corrected me. You said we weren't fucking, but making love, and it made me come so hard it felt like my entire body was electrified."

Jonathan licked his lips. "Well, we did, you know."

"Fuck?" Jervis asked. "Or make love?"

Jonathan didn't say anything at first, thinking about the difference between the two terms, but Jervis spoke before he could collect his answer.

"It's not important, dear," he said.

"You were so tight around me it felt like you were strangling me," Jonathan admitted. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I didn't want to stop, but you just got tighter and I was done for."

Jervis laughed. He gave a devilish grin and said "Hot" before leaning back in his chair, his hair ruffled and his figure nude, imprinted with quilt marks across his skin from the pressure of being pushed into the pillows. "So what's on the agenda for today?" he asked. "More of the same? A nice outing somewhere, perhaps? Well, until our dinner this evening, of course."

A sudden bout of anxiety seized Jonathan's gut, but he swallowed some coffee and took a breath. "Excited?"

"How could I _not_ be?" Jervis swirled the liquid about in his mug. "I don't even know what to wear. And it's such a nice place… I haven't anything that would even come close to being appropriate."

"That's why we're going to rent some tuxedos. We should have done it earlier in the week."

Jervis squealed in glee. "Can I get a white jacket? White always brings out the shine in my hair."

"You can get whatever you want. If you can find it."

So the two dressed for the day and walked out the door. Rather than take the metro, Jonathan drove them to a tux store and parked on the side street a block away. They held hands as they hurried from sidewalk to sidewalk. Someone honked at them, but neither paid any attention to the sound.

Upon entering the store, a salesman greeted them and took their measurements. Jonathan's selection was rather easy considering his common height. His waistline, however, was a bit of an issue, but nothing a belt couldn't keep in place. Jervis on the other hand had difficulties finding exactly what he wanted, but finally came upon a sexy, white, surprisingly well-fitted, one button notch dinner jacket with a black non-pleated dress shirt, ivory tie and satin vest included. The black pants he chose would have to be altered, unlikely to be finished for their evening out, but he found another pair that suited him better and decided those were the ones.

"What luck," he said as they approached the register, shoes and ties in hand. The salesman had taken their suits and put them in long, mesh bags for their trip home, then had the cashier ring them out at the counter.

Outside, Jervis hummed under the sunlight. "God, is it not a beautiful Saturday, my dear?"

Jonathan slung the suits over his shoulder, the hooks of the hangers held by his fingers. "It certainly is," he replied. Another fit of anxiety fluttered like butterflies within his stomach, but he held Jervis's hand and squeezed.

When they got home Jonathan insisted on lunch, since they hadn't eaten, and made them both turkey sandwiches while Jervis watched an old Burbank Film's edition of Alice in Wonderland, then, when that was finished, popped in the Disney version. Jervis seemed to glow when watching those stupid movies, as if a part of him was reliving childhood. Thinking it somewhat strange and possibly detrimental to his recovery, Jonathan approached to shut the television off, or at least the DVD player, but when he saw the light from the sun shining through their window onto Jervis's serene face, he couldn't help but leave the set alone. Jervis looked so innocent like that, and Jonathan realized then that he was falling deeper.

It was true, he knew. He had only to say so now. He planned to… if everything went accordingly this evening.

Jervis lounged on the floor in front of the television, oblivious, surrounded by soft blankets and pillows as if he were some burrowing creature hunkering down for the winter while Alice stumbled upon the famous tea party scene. Jonathan rolled his eyes when seeing the Mad Hatter call for butter, slapped a pad on the inside of the white rabbit's pocket watch, took the tea from the March Hare, Sugar (two spoons), Jam, and mustard, yes must—_mustard_? Don't let's be silly. Of course, lemon was different. He laughed aloud when the March Hare started raving about the watch, eyes going in different directions, and Jervis turned to gaze at him with a big dopey grin.

Then, all of a sudden, it was time.

Jonathan showered first, leaving the bathroom to his companion, stating that it would be amusing if they dressed separately and only exposed their appearances to one another when they were completely groomed.

"Ah, like the bride before her wedding," Jervis said with a laugh. "I like it."

In the bedroom, while Jervis showered, Jonathan pulled up his suit pants and buttoned his dress shirt, then slipped on the nice, standard, black tuxedo jacket with the bowtie. The jacket buttoned three spaces, then tapered off, giving him an elegant waistline, and the pants made his legs look even longer and sleeker than they were. He adjusted his glasses (a new pair since his last had been broken) and slicked his hair with a light gel, then looked into the mirror hanging above their bureau and gave himself a dashing smile, but felt like an idiot. _It doesn't matter_, he thought, _just get it out and put it in your pocket_.

He fumbled around the top drawer, moving his underwear, feeling for the familiar velvet, then slid it into his pocket just in time to evade Jervis's notice.

"How do I look?" the blonde man asked as he came strutting through the door.

Jonathan turned to see his partner and his heart felt as if it would pound its way out of his chest.

Jervis wore that suit as if he had been born in it, every inch tailored and proportional to his body. His blonde hair was smoothed and slicked, though his bangs fell with a stylish wave above his forehead. He seemed to stand taller, his shoulders broader, his torso more defined, elongating his squat legs.

There was an elegance to Jervis that was always present, but where the typical snobbishness to those who did not know him personally was at the forefront, a more suave, genteel sophistication became apparent upon seeing through that exterior to the man's core.

Jonathan gulped, his eyes fixated, strategizing how to take off his partner's clothes the quickest way. "You look…" he tried. There were a number of words he could have used to describe Jervis then, but the easiest seemed to make its way out his mouth first. "Handsome."

"As do you," Jervis replied. He looked awkward for a moment before regaining his confidence. "Though, I feel somewhat silly—you don't think the white was too pimpish, do you?"

"I think you'd have to be a little taller to get that look," Jonathan answered.

Jervis mocked indignation. "Hm. Telling me I don't have what it takes? I'll be your pimp, _then_ we'll see who needs to be a little taller."

Jonathan laughed. "Alright. I believe you. But we better get going—" He turned and smirked. "—daddy."

Out amid Gotham's many buildings, the sun was beginning to set along the horizon. Jonathan guided his companion to the passenger side of their car, a rather crappy, old, ford station wagon—a style Jonathan admittedly loved—and held open the door while Jervis scooted onto the seat. Jonathan then shut the door, hurried around to the other side, and ducked in. Their drive to Lucia's was spent in relative silence, as Jervis spent his time peering out the window at the city while Jonathan prepared himself for everything he wanted to say during their meal. The lights of the city were breathtaking, but nothing compared to his blonde paramour in the next seat. He was so nervous and jumpy he nearly hit another car on their way there.

Once at the restaurant, Jonathan handed off his keys to the parking valet. The young, well dressed man took the keys and bowed his head, then jumped in their car and pulled it into the lot. Jonathan watched, stalling, taking a deep, yet imperceptible breath, but Jervis tugged on his hand and he was forced to pay attention as they ascended the front steps.

The external appearance of Lucia's gave the five star restaurant a rather unimposing, casual feel, but once inside there was no denying it was top notch. The steps leading up were antique and narrow, with small statues of cherubs in white marble on either sides of the doorway. Upon reaching the final step the restaurant's real exquisiteness was revealed. Through the doors, a small fountain made of various stones spilled clear water, bubbling in a tranquil way, and cream-colored columns stood off in sets of twos along the walls with lights emanating from their bases. A chandelier hung from the ceiling with sheer crystals, and below it the floor spiraled in patterns of intricate stone tile. Bouquets of red roses lined the hosts ebony podium, their scents delicate, increasing as Jonathan neared, Jervis's fingers laced through his own.

"Evening, Sir," the host said. His mustache twitched as he spoke. "Reservation?"

"Yes," Jonathan replied, becoming suddenly awkward, though he would not let himself let go of Jervis's hand. "J. Crane."

Jervis smiled up at him. The host looked on his list and gave a quick nod. "Gentlemen, right this way."

The two men followed the host towards the back of the restaurant, passing tables filled with fine dressed patrons. _Money of the city_, Jonathan thought as they went. The lights dimmed further towards the back, until they entered a section void of any people. The host put down a menu on either side of a small table for two and waited for them to sit. "Is this right?" Jonathan asked. "I mean, this can't be right."

The host stared at him. "You are J. Crane, yes?"

Jonathan glanced at Jervis then back again to the host. "Well, yes, but—"

"These are your reservations," the host replied.

Jervis did not need to be told twice. He went to pull the left chair out, but Jonathan snapped from his trance and stepped in front of his companion, saying, "No, no, let me." The chivalrousness in his action seemed to score him some points, as Jervis beamed with adoring eyes when taking his seat. Jonathan then took his own across from Jervis, feeling like a fool for second guessing the host, but Jervis's hand crept around his fingers, holding them lightly as if he meant to bend forward and kiss them, and Jonathan relaxed. Soon they were both chatting—well, Jervis chatted, and Jonathan simply smiled, punctuating each of his partner's sentences with a sigh or a nod or a slight hum of acknowledgement.

A rose rested in the center of the glass table between them, its leaves delicate, its budding petals soft.

Eventually, when their server came, they ordered two glasses of wine; though Jonathan reminded Jervis they couldn't have more than that. When it was time, Jervis ordered the goat cheese and spinach salad with roasted walnuts for a starter, then for his entréethe pan roasted duck breast with a citrus port cherry sauce. Jonathan decided upon a bowl of minestrone soup, then ordered a grilled rib-eye streak with roasted rosemary potatoes. Of course, when the food arrived, the presentation was beyond gorgeous, not to mention the wine was so superb they both said to hell with it and each ordered a second glass. Jonathan wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the comforts of the fine atmosphere, but he was positive his reserve had lessened when he leaned forward at Jervis's request to let a succulent piece of roast duck be placed within his waiting mouth. The grease of the meat tasted delicious, intoxicating.

By the time they were finished their food it was as if no one existed but them. It no doubt helped that the entire section had been reserved for the two. Jonathan smiled and took Jervis's hand.

"This day has been so wonderful," he said. "I wish it would never end."

"There will be more. The future is vast, my dear."

Jonathan bit his lip. "It's funny you mention the future…" He seemed to be lost in thought, then said, "Jervis, I need to talk to you about something. Something important."

Jervis sat up straight. "Yes?"

_Take your time_, Jonathan thought. "Jervis. There comes a time in every man's… no, that's stupid…" He pulled at the collar of his dress shirt. It suddenly felt hot and constricting. "There, well, there's certain things a man… no, that doesn't sound right either." He stumbled, feeling daft, looking down at his plate as if it were a cue card. "God, this is harder than I thought… ok, well. Yes." He looked up.

Jervis's eyes shone that brilliant, attentive, blue, and for a moment Jonathan was caught gazing into their depths as he gathered himself, reaching across the table again for his companion's hand. _Just do it_, he thought.

"Jervis… Jervis, I'll be forty-two next year. I've lived most of my life a criminal, alone, without care as to where I was going or what I was doing. Everything I've ever done was for my own selfish gain. I'm… I'm sick of thinking about all the things I missed out on in life. I want so bad to have back those years, those _summers_. If I did, I'd spend them with you. Each one. God, what I wouldn't do to just soak up the sun and lounge on a beach somewhere with you by my side. I… I can't tell you how much regret I have. I'm tired of knowing I fucked up—"

"Jonathan," Jervis interrupted, "it's alright, dear. We make mistakes."

"No. A mistake is something you do once, maybe twice, and then you learn from it. My own stupidity is what's to blame. But it's time I corrected that. It's time I step up." With that said, Jonathan rose to his feet, nudging out the chair behind him. Another step brought him to his knee by Jervis's chair, and he swallowed hard, slipping a hand into his pocket. _Now's the time_.

"Jonathan…" Jervis said, staring at the contents of the opened velvet box. "What… what _is_ that?"

He chuckled. "Seeing you speechless is almost worth shitting my pants."

Jervis's mouth was agape.

"So… will you?"

There was only silence.

Jonathan licked his lips fretfully. "… Well?"

"I-I'm sorry," Jervis replied. "I-I-I don't know what… I'm not quite sure I understand."

Jonathan's jaw trembled as he pulled his seat back underneath him. He rested the velvet box on the table before Jervis, his palms sweating so bad they felt as if he had dowsed them with water. "What's not to understand?"

Jervis was now chuckling. "I-It's just sudden and… and I didn't see it coming. At all. I mean… what, you want a white fence, a couple kids, and a house in the suburbs?"

"Yes," Jonathan said quickly. "God, yes. If that's what _you_ want. The house, the fence. And I'm sure we could look into adoption at some point if that's—"

"My God," Jervis said. He looked aghast. "You're really serious."

The conversation momentarily stopped when the server came in to deliver the already taken care of check, compliments of Bruce Wayne. Jonathan didn't even look.

"When it comes to you, I'm dead serious," he finished saying.

Jervis remained wordless, his eyes darting to the opened box, to Jonathan, to the napkin in his lap, back to the box. Jonathan took it up again and held it so Jervis would see. "So," he said, "I'll ask you again, in full. Jervis, sweetheart… will you marry me?"

There was a strange peace, and the restaurant seemed to dim out of existence.

* * *

Jonathan lost his balance and was pushed into the door by the force of Jervis's mouth, though he never lost contact with his companion's lips.

He drew back to speak. "I'll open the door." He did, but as he turned the key he was caught again in another long kiss.

Small hands were grasping at his pants as they staggered in, and on the blonde's ring finger the white gold wedding band Jonathan had proposed with shown silvery in the scant light of the hallway, then cut out in the blackness of their darkened apartment. It was a beautiful ring, inlaid with little black diamonds that circled the center, and engraved on the inner side with the words 'Love Jonathan' in sleek cursive letters. The gold ring's mate, which Jonathan had left at home, was a simple band made in black titanium, something he sought to wear the instant they both had returned home.

But Jervis was currently tonguing his mouth with an eagerness he hadn't had the pleasure of in weeks, making his mind pause on all thoughts.

"Hold on," he managed to breathe.

Jervis nodded, gulping down some much needed air, and said, "Yeah, I need to take a piss."

"Go."

Jervis made a dash for the toilet while Jonathan took the opportunity to make his way towards the bedroom. Therein, he unbuttoned his jacket, then his undershirt, but stopped to take his own ring and slip it on his finger. The glitter of the metallic black titanium made him think of candles, so he went to the closet where he had previously placed two for their evening. He put them on the night stand and lit them, side by side. Thankfully, he hadn't bought them in vain.

The door creaked and Jonathan shot a look over his shoulder. "The inside of this ring…" Jervis said. He bit his lip. "It says how you feel, doesn't it?"

"Come here."

Jervis obeyed, walking towards Jonathan slowly, his tuxedo pants undone at the top but remaining at his hips. When he was close, Jonathan took him by the upper arms and swiveled them both so that his back was facing their bed. Jervis took the hint and sidled onto the mattress, his earlier fervor appearing gone, replaced by a meekness Jonathan found arousing.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft.

Jervis cleared his throat. "You've never… looked at me like this before."

The statement surprised him. "Maybe it's because I've never actually _seen_ you, Jervis."

It was a good response, and Jervis let his eyelids flutter as Jonathan undid the buttons keeping his dress shirt closed. Jonathan removed his partner's pants, pausing to oil himself, then looked into Jervis's eyes. This was the moment. Now, when everything was clear. This was it.

As he pushed his hips, he gasped, saying for Jervis the words he knew his companion had been waiting to hear. "Jervis," he said through a pant, "Oh, honey, I love you."

Jervis's mouth hung open in a silent cry of joy as they rocked together, his hands clutching at Jonathan's sides. The rest was a blur of ecstasy as they both moved towards their finish, releasing with equally loud cries, declaring those sappy words over and over and over again.

When they were through Jonathan collapsed onto the mattress, spent beyond measure, while Jervis managed to lift the covers. Unlike in the past, Jonathan fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillows, his mind filled with tenderness towards the man in his arms. In that peaceful moment he knew for sure.

Opposites do attract. And he had found his.


	29. Breaking Walls

Story Title: Black & White  
Chapter Title: Breaking Walls  
Universe: Comic-verse  
Word Count: 4,197  
Genre: Drama/Romance, Continuation, WIP  
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch, Becky Albright  
Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Jervis Tetch, Jervis Tetch/ Jonathan Crane, Jonathan Crane/Becky Albright  
Chapter rating: M  
Summary: Jonathan talks about love, leading to a switch in routine. Tim Sale style Scarecrow and more of a Gotham Central/Secret Six style Hatter.  
Warnings: Language, adult themes, sexual content, minor drug use  
Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © DC and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.

**Author's note:** This one was fun because there was some Becky in it. A bit more graphic than I normally intend for, but the change in the relationship is a notable turning point. Kind of fluffy, but things are always changing for these guys, mainly because I'm sadistic.

Also, another fanvid was made! Thank you Yaoipigglet! You can visit my deviant page and find the link in the comments section by scrolling down. Check it out and give props! The pictures were also made from various artists you can likely find on deviantart, so give them a shout out as well and tell them they rock.

Deviantart: xcrowscrowx.

R&R

Breaking Walls

Jervis called merrily from the bedroom, his joy barely contained. "Come now, little oyster!"

Jonathan blinked. He was in their bathroom drying his hands when, at the sound of Jervis's voice, he glanced up.

What he saw astonished him.

In the mirror a happier version of himself stared back, eyes aglow, untrimmed bangs draped casually over his brow as if he hadn't a care in the world. The effect could only be that of the nine peaceful months living engaged to a man that gave his life purpose and ambition, a man that told him he was loved and appreciated for all that he was, regardless of if it was good or bad—a man that made him feel like he was eighteen again.

And Jervis confessed the same feelings. He laughed more—a genuine laugh that showed off his charming buck teeth—and expressed himself through his words instead of resorting to manipulation or temper tantrums. He was participating in a martial arts program every Monday and Wednesday for the sake of exercise and defense, and was now talking to Dr. Bartholomew three times a week, saying their sessions were pointing to better progress as he was able to describe the complicated jumble of emotions that plagued him inside without the help of a truth serum. In truth, he'd once declared, he was feeling more alive than ever.

Jonathan had been quite pleased. Within one another they had found their happiness, and Jonathan secretly prayed his thankfulness at night before falling asleep.

However, though the months had been kind, and as much as Jonathan hated to admit it, they still had their troubles.

A typical week consisted of the same routine; they worked, cleaned, shopped, argued, fucked, slept, woke up, ate, did it all over again. Sometimes their bickering was almost too much to bear, but when Jonathan was at the brink of throwing up his hands and storming out the door, he found himself relenting, to which Jervis acquiesced. Their apologies were brief, as neither seemed to know what it was that had brought them to such angry shouts and shaking fists in the first place, but their love making lasted and lasted until eventually they were rubbing noses in the aftermath of their ecstasy, forgetting all about their previous quarrel.

Jonathan sighed when thinking of it, absently toying with the red highlight in his messy brown hair. The streak swept back as he ran his fingers along his scalp, giving his severe features a somewhat playful appeal; though he never guessed red would be his color. The idea to spice up his usual appearance with something more hip had been Jervis's, of course.

It made him beam just thinking about the way his partner had showered him with affection when walking through their door that one evening. Red was definitely his color.

"Jonathan? I'm ready here, love."

Jonathan shook his head and flipped off the light to the bathroom. Upon reaching their room, he witnessed a shirtless Jervis lounging on their bed wearing a pair of loose fitting, sky blue jeans that had a hole in the right knee. Atop his blonde head was a brown, leather, Australian style, cowboy hat, one of the confiscated articles returned to him after his release from Arkham. Lining their bureau was a small collection of the other beloved headgear—he was only allowed four of his choice, nothing more—such as his traditional dark green top hat, a suave, black fedora, and a gray newsboy cap.

Heat rose to Jonathan's cheeks as he watched Jervis fumble with the skin of a cigar. The blonde's pants were noticeably unbuttoned, the zipper half way down, making Jonathan's tongue dart out to lick his lips. Jervis glanced up.

"Sit with me, lover." He tapped the mattress with his free hand.

Jonathan did as asked. "You sure you know how to do this?"

Jervis looked at him and cocked a brow. "Jonathan, darling, I've been smoking since I was twelve. I know how to roll a blunt."

Jonathan held up his hands, saying, "Okay, okay, do your thing."

After a few moments, it was obvious Jervis hadn't been lying. Exaggerating, maybe, but certainly not lying. Jonathan watched with quiet interest as his fiancé licked, cut, and thumbed the insides of the cigar out. Jervis again licked the rectangular piece, folded it in the center, then spread a portion of the ground marijuana he'd purchased down the length, rolling it upwards and lapping the remaining paper at the edge. When it was pressed and formed he ran it under a lighter, spinning as he went, and suddenly it was in his mouth, the tip searing red as he inhaled a lung full.

"That's good," he croaked, speaking while holding his breath. He extended the brown cylinder for Jonathan to take.

Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, Jonathan took the offered blunt and brought it up to his mouth, but it lingering there as he hesitated. "I've never… well, you know."

Jervis turned to him, a small, creeping smile appearing on his face. He exhaled loudly, the smoke billowing into the air, and folded his arms behind his head whilst giving a knowing chuckle. "My, my… I get to pop all your cherries, don't I?"

Despite his unease, Jonathan's cheeks turned rouge, and he smiled. He put the end of the blunt in his mouth and sucked. When Jervis encouraged him to take more, he did.

"Good," Jervis said. "Now hold it in as long as you can."

Jonathan obeyed. After a few moments he felt his lungs begin to burn, but even when exhaling the substance he couldn't stop himself from exploding into a fit of coughs and hacks. Innocent laughter could be heard in the background, but Jonathan was too busy trying to breathe then to rebuke Jervis's mirth. It was harmless, after all, and Jonathan was soon smiling when his composure was regained.

"Are you laughing at me, silly man?" he said, slapping Jervis on the bicep.

"You are so high right now, Jonathan," Jervis replied, letting out another laugh.

"It's not my fault I'm inexperienced."

Jervis answered him with a teasing 'tsk' and shook his head. "Aw, poor thing."

"Shut up." Jonathan held his head high and crossed his arms.

"You know, you're quiet adorable when you pout like that."

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

"Take another hit."

Though the relaxing qualities of the drug were already loosening his demeanor, Jonathan did as he was told, dragging in with a sizeable breath. Jervis waited while he exhaled, then clapped in mock praise.

"Oh, look at you go," he said and grinned.

Jonathan gave his partner a flat expression and raised his middle finger, to which Jervis winked at him.

"So…" Jonathan started, "what do you, you know, _do_ when you're high?" His mouth felt very dry, and he tried to lick his lips, but his tongue felt dry too.

"What do we _do_?" Jervis repeated. He shrugged. "Nothing. Lounge. Chill. Tell stories."

"Stories?"

Jervis took another long hit and handed over the blunt. "Tell me about your first real love."

A looked of doubt flashed across Jonathan's face. He licked his lips again. "I'm not so sure, Jerv, hun. It's not really a happy story."

Jervis didn't say a thing until Jonathan smiled and took another inhale from the brown cylinder between his fingers. "Alright," he said, "I'll tell you. Only because I trust you."

"Mm, now we're breaking some walls."

"Her name was Rebecca. But she went by Becky. Becky Albright."

There was a touch of bitterness laced in the name, as if it were sour on his tongue. Jervis shifted, seeming to note the tone, and settled into the mattress.

"When I was a senior in college, finishing my bachelor's in psychology I was taking a class that was first year curriculum, but after multiple nights spent wide awake studying and stressing and reading until dawn, I just wanted something easy for my final semester. At least until I went into grad school.

"Anyway, the class was called law 120. Criminal Law 1." He paused, pushing up his glasses at the bridge. "I'll never forget that name. Nor the class."

Jervis listened intently, packing a pipe for himself as he nodded for Jonathan to continue.

"The class prior to our last week of the semester we fell into a discussion. It was a simple debate, so I raised my hand and spoke my mind."

"What was the topic?" Jervis asked.

Jonathan grimaced. "I can't remember."

Jervis raised a brow.

"Alright, it was about the justice system or something." He ran his hand through his hair. "I… I was young and angry and thought I knew everything so I said something stupid. No one really wanted to argue my point; I was a senior and spoke clearly and with authority, and they were freshmen. What did they care? Regardless, she raised her hand—"

"Come, come now," Jervis interrupted. "You can't simply tell me the question and refuse me your answer. What did you say that got her upset enough to challenge you?"

Jonathan sighed in exasperation. "It's… shit, it's really embarrassing."

"Oh, come on."

"I said… I said the concept of a just judicial system was inevitably flawed. I said that people were ugly on the inside, and they didn't care about each other. They would always steal, cheat, and hate one another, no matter what the forces around them, so the law was just a shitty buffer or a lock to keep the evils of society from spiraling out of control, but it would never change and ultimately humanity would fail."

"Sound point."

"She disagreed. Said that the law would bring out the good in people, that it was a functioning and pivotal piece of civilization that needed to be in place, whether or not it was corrupt or immoral, because it kept the entirety of order from harm. She said if everyone understood this, the law might be able to right the wrongs in the world and eventually teach people how to change for the better."

"Hm." Jervis puffed his pipe casually. "Idealistic."

"Foolish was the word I used. And naïve."

"I take it she argued that as well."

Jonathan rubbed his forehead, chuckling some. "She said I was a scared little boy. Said _I_ was the naïve one for thinking so lowly of people, and that I probably had a bad childhood." His chuckling turned to laughter. "I was so angry, Jervis, so, so angry. I called her a cunt in class. Shouted it at her. She turned paler than a goddamn ghost."

"And?" Jervis prodded.

"The professor kicked me out. It was nearly permanent, but I went to her a day later and apologized. She said I was fortunate; Becky spoke to her at the end of class and told her not to take my outburst to heart. She… she felt bad for me."

Jervis smiled, the pipe between his lips, smoke spilling out in plumes from his nostrils.

"So I graduated. I felt good about myself. That night I decided I would go out for a drink in celebration. I was fresh out of school and was about to start my graduate program at twenty-one. I'd accomplished so much on my own; I thought I deserved a little enjoyment. I went to a bar… alone, of course… but I read and had a few drinks, and it was kind of nice."

"On my way back home I came across a girl…" Jonathan paused and sighed as he reminisced, but continued with the utmost clarity as if he were there…

* * *

"_Are you okay?" he asked, peering down at the girl crying on the edge of the sidewalk._

_Rain poured in heaps from the night sky, cascading like a waterfall over their heads. _

"_Excuse me, Miss?" he asked again. "Do you need help?"_

_She looked up. Like a vice gripping his lungs, Jonathan's breath caught in his throat and his voice failed him. She stood and waited, meeting his height but for a few inches, her arms wrapped around her skinny frame as she shivered. He couldn't help but stare. Her hair clung to her face in long, unruly locks as if it were a wet animal, pretty, but as soon as he laid eyes on the blossoming bruise on her cheek his anger flared. Her lip was swollen too, but he decided to ignore it._

"_Becky?" he asked. As if he didn't know._

"_Yeah," she said. _

_He shrugged off his coat, believing she would refuse it, but she clutched at it as he placed it around her shoulders. _

"_You can come to my apartment," he said._

_He thought she would refuse that as well, but she moved to follow his lead. Upon reaching his apartment, he opened the door and motioned for her to go first, to which she whispered a quiet 'thank you' and stepped over the threshold. Books upon books crammed the space that doubled as the bedroom/living quarters. Food wrappers decorated the area, littering the window sill, the twin mattress on the barren floor, and the dingy bookshelf packed with his hardcover novels. She looked shocked, but when she sat at the broken table near the left side wall her expression turned awkward._

_Jonathan inwardly cringed at the pile of maxim, penthouse, and playboy magazines strewn about the table surface. He could feel the blush creeping on his cheeks, but kept his cool regardless; he told himself he didn't care, she was a bitch anyway._

_With that thought, he sauntered past her, heading for his tiny kitchen where he began to boil a pot of water. _

"_All I have is noodles," he said. "They're cheap, and I'm dirt poor."_

"_You go by Jonathan, right?" she asked. "Not Jon, or Jonny or anything?"_

"_Jonathan Crane," he replied with a grunt._

"_Do you live here on your own?"_

_He came back and leaned against the doorway connecting the two rooms, crossing his arms and frowning. "Yes. Why is that any of your business?"_

_She seemed to flinch at his tone. "I suppose it makes sense. I mean… the bachelor pad."_

_Jonathan sneered at the remark. "Oh, you mean I'm obviously _single_. Because this place is a shit hole and I'm a slob. Well, yes, I am. If that's what you're so rudely trying to get at."_

"_No, I wasn't—"_

_He turned with an abruptness so sudden it stopped her mid-sentence._

_When the noodles were done he emptied them into the cleanest bowl he could find and slammed it on the table in front of her, making the broth spill over the sides. He didn't wait for her to speak. Instead, he pushed the items off his bed and flopped down, punching the remote to turn on the television. _

_She sighed. "Maybe I should go…" _

_He whipped his head around and glared. "Maybe you should."_

_At that, her brows creased. "You were the one who suggested I come here."_

"_Yeah, well, I didn't think you were going to be such a judgmental _bitch_ about the way I live."_

_The chair made a noise as she stood. "What the hell is your problem?"_

"_I don't have a problem. I'm perfectly fine. I'm healthy. I have my books, my degree, and soon my PhD. After that I'll have a job and all the money to buy as many books as I want. I'm _great_. You're the one with the problem."_

_She laughed. "I knew it. I knew you were just a pathetic loner with nothing but his own hand to keep him company."_

_Jonathan bolted to his feet, his face reddening in rage. "Excuse me? _I'm_ the asshole? _I_ am? Well, that's just fucking great. I'm the asshole. And I suppose the guy who smacks you around is a real sweetheart. Am I right?"_

_The argument ended. Her mouth trembled, but her hand shot up to cover it, her palm pressing to stifle the coming sob. Hazel eyes began to water until a tear sprang forth and trickled its way down to her jaw, dripping to the vinyl floor. Jonathan felt a pang in his gut at the sight._

"_Shit…" he mumbled. "I… Becky… I-I'm sorry."_

_She started to cry, her hand still holding her mouth as if she were afraid to make a sound. _

_Jonathan panicked. "Oh, no… no. Please don't cry. Damnit, you're right, I am an asshole. Just don't cry, okay?"_

"_No, you're right," she said. "You're right. He's the asshole, not you. I'm sorry for prying; I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just scared."_

_That piqued his interest. "Scared? Of what?"_

_She sniffled. "I broke it off with him. I guess… I guess I'm scared of being alone. But I'm not going back to him. I don't care what he says!"_

"_Hey, it's okay. You know… I never apologized to you for what I said. In class, I mean."_

_Her tears tapered off and she wiped at her nose with the sleeve of his jacket, to which he didn't cared. "It's okay, Jonathan Crane," she said with the wisp of a smile._

_He returned the smile and handed her a box of tissues. She took them and blew her nose. As she did he watched her, realizing he'd never had an attractive girl in his home. It was not meant to be said, but his mouth opened before he could stop himself. "You're very pretty."_

_In what seemed a slow blur, she put the box of tissues down, stepped close, and reached up on her toes to put her mouth on his. The sensation was epic, otherworldly, like nothing he had ever felt before. She was so soft, with a smell like raspberries, and he melted into her, opening his mouth to let her tongue slip past his lips. Her hands were on him, cupping his jaw; his went to grip her whittled waist. He sighed._

_It was his first kiss._

_When they separated, she stroked his face._

"_I should go," she said._

_He groaned. "No… no, you shouldn't."_

"_I have to. My roommate is probably worried about me by now."_

"_You didn't even touch your noodles…"_

_She held his hand as she approached the door. "I'll give you your jacket back," she said and moved to take it off, but he shook his head and zipped the front._

"_You keep it. It's still raining out."_

_Her smile glowed as she looked in his eyes. "Alright. But I'll need to give it back to you at some point."_

"_How about tomorrow? At the coffee shop near the school?"_

"_Nothing could stop me."_

"_Mm, brave Becky. My plucky Becky."_

_As he held the door for her she giggled and replied, "Jonathan Crane."_

"_Jonathan is fine. I prefer you call me sweetheart, but Jonathan works."_

_She pulled him into another long kiss. "Tomorrow then… Jonathan."_

* * *

"Such a tender tale," Jervis said. He tipped back the rim of his leather hat and smiled. "She lured you out of your little shell, didn't she, my sweet oyster?

Jonathan shook at the voice cutting through his memories. "Oh, she lured me alright." He turned solemn. "It didn't end so well."

"Ah," Jervis replied. "Save it for another time, then?"

"What about you? Who was yours? Your first real love?"

Jervis puffed on the now dwindling remains of tobacco in his pipe and breathed out. "Perhaps we'll save that for another time as well," he said, laying into his pillow. His expression was soft and charming, full of adoration. "There's something else I want now."

"Alright." Jonathan laid next to his companion, resting his head to the side, his heart fluttering at the memories of Becky and the image of the man before him. "What is it you want?"

There was nothing to warn him of Jervis's desires, nothing to let him know how to react. The answer was calm, clear, and concise; a response so unlike the Jervis he'd come to love it caught him terribly off guard.

"I want to be inside you."

Before he could realize it, Jervis was hovering over him, his small hands wandering gently under fabric and seams. Jonathan's breath hitched and he pressed lightly against Jervis's chest, saying, "I'm not sure…"

"What are you not sure about, love?"

"Will it… hurt?"

Jervis's lips curled and he stroked his fingers affectionately against Jonathan's cheek and jaw. "Never."

Their lips met, though Jonathan shied from his partner's touch as if he were afraid the contact would burn his flesh, but after a time the tension between them subsided. Jervis licked with an eagerness Jonathan could not oppose, and eventually their slow connection heated into a full-fledged flame. Jervis paused between kisses, pulling back to remove his clothes, then directed Jonathan—despite his growing hesitation—to do the same. Once they were both nude they kissed again, but Jonathan's hands came up as if to stop Jervis from going any further. Jervis yielded, allowing Jonathan a moment to relax, but without warning Jervis pushed his thighs to his chest and dropped from view. What he felt next was something so utterly unexpected that he gasped aloud.

"Jervis! Don't put… your mouth there…"

The sensation stopped and Jervis lifted his head. "Why?" he whispered. "Because it's dirty?"

He gulped and let Jervis go back to his ministrations. By the time Jervis raised his head again, Jonathan had eased so much his arms were stretched above his head. His eyes had been closed throughout, but opened when the act ceased, looking to Jervis almost as if in question of what would happen next. Jervis reached for the nightstand and took out the bottle of oil, then positioned his himself.

"_Wait_," Jonathan said and gripped his companion's wrist.

"It's alright," Jervis replied. "It _will_ feel good. Trust me."

The emphasis of '_will_' was something Jonathan had overlooked. '_Will'_ as in '_after a while'_. He had to breathe deep as if he were giving birth and break between each small movement Jervis made just to feel a fraction of comfort. It felt, to his utmost horror, like he needed to use the restroom, though that was putting it rather gently.

Jervis was patient and encouraging though. A pleasant surprise as Jonathan truly thought he would ditch the loving pretense and take what he wanted. Shame filled him at the thought, but Jervis proved him right with a little too much force.

"Slow," he managed to say. "Go slow."

Jervis panted and chuckled. "Sorry… I got ahead of myself for a moment. Here," he said and moved to lie on his backside, placing the hat he wore on Jonathan's head, "you ride top."

The suggestion was appreciated. Given the control and time, Jonathan was able to enjoy himself more, and soon he was experiencing the onset of release.

Jervis panted in short gasps. "I'm not sure I can last much—"

He didn't have to.

With a strained moan, Jonathan let himself go. In that instant, Jervis flipped him onto his back with a surprising amount of force—a result of those martial arts classes perhaps—snatched the hat from his head, and thrust forward until finished, which, fortunately for Jonathan, didn't last long, as he was beginning to blurt out noises he hadn't realized he could make.

Spent, Jervis shakily moved to collapse on the other side of their bed, his breath heavy, though otherwise silent, leaving Jonathan to ponder the extent of their joining in the beautiful moments of its wake. Thinking about it made him shiver.

Never in his life had he felt anything like the experience he'd just endured. It was… strange. It had been tender, yet rough, sophisticated, yet primal, sexy and loud and so very physical, with a mixture of complete emotional vulnerability that made him undergo even more exposure. It was wrong and right. It was unnatural, yet pleasurable therein. It made him feel like an animal, as if every complexity in life had been boiled down to that one thing: being fucked like a bitch in heat.

"Opens your eyes a lot, doesn't it?" Jervis asked, once again interrupting his thoughts.

Jonathan snorted. "The only thing it opens my eyes to is why you're such a whiney shit all the time."

"Go clean up your ass," Jervis replied. He packed his pipe and snickered.

"Oh, I'll do it when I feel like it," Jonathan retorted. "And don't you think for a second you can tell me what to do, you slippery bastard. Just because you've had your way with me doesn't mean you can bark out the orders now." He smiled.

"I'd say at present we're well below equal in terms of dominance or control," Jervis said. "But a relationship shouldn't be about that. It should be about trust."

"You're a bastard," Jonathan replied with a giggle. He curled his way under Jervis's arm and snuggled like a cat into the man's bare chest, practically purring.

"And you're my little oyster," Jervis said. He stroked a tuft of Jonathan's hair from his brow. "My sweet, little oyster."

Jonathan sighed. "I am."


End file.
